Gobble, Gobble
by winter machine
Summary: Thanksgiving-themed Addek fluff, as requested by LS. Addison, Derek, kids, and turkey. What else is there? Other than an impending visit from Ma Shepherd, that is. And maybe a couple of other unexpected guests. Set in the same Christa universe as Who's the Hero Now, updated December 2018.
1. Olivia

_**A/N: Fluffy Friday returns! This is for awesome guest reviewer LS, who requested Addek Thanksgiving fluff. Here's seven thousand words of it. What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy Addek with babies. I'm just thankful that in 2017, I'm not the only Addek trash out there! So, here goes: this is set in the same universe as my story "Who's the Hero Now?" If you haven't read that, you can start here, but you'll get to know Addison and Derek's daughter from that story. This piece takes place about two years after that story. And it starts the day before Thanksgiving. Enjoy!**_

* * *

 ** _Gobble, Gobble  
.._**

* * *

"Tell me again why I agreed to this."

"Because you are incredible," Derek says. "And amazing. And I don't deserve you."

"See, I know all of that already." Addison sets down the alarmingly large knife she's been using to attack a sweet potato. "But it doesn't really answer my question."

Derek slices another Brussels sprout in half; promptly, the leaves shed and form a pile so that all he's holding is a pea-sized ball of green. "Is it because you love Thanksgiving?"

"…really?"

"Addie, no one remembers that," he says hastily.

"Your mother remembers."

"No she doesn't."

"She does, and she's waiting for me to mess up this year instead of making up for it."

"What are you making up for?" Christa asks. She's currently towering over her parents since she still favors the high stool she'd sit on as a toddler. At ten – _almost eleven_ , she would insist – and fresh off a growth spurt, she doesn't exactly need the height, but she still likes it.

"Nothing," Addison says hastily.

"Certainly not salmonella," Derek adds.

"And no one's stomach was pumped."

"I don't remember that," their daughter says.

"You were so little, Chris. Not even two."

She considers this. "And we had Thanksgiving here?"

"We tried," Derek says.

"Your father volunteered us," Addison corrects.

"Did he volunteer us this time too?" Christa asks.

"We decided as a family," Derek says before Addison can answer. She makes a noncommittal noise.

Derek drops the next Brussels sprout entirely; Arturo, their daughter's large and chronically cranky cat, swoops in and bats it away.

"Where is he taking that?" Addison sets down her knife. "Arturo, come back here!"

The cat stops in the doorway and stares directly at Addison, delicately washing one paw. He lets her get about a foot away before he hisses, swipes the Brussels sprout into the foyer, and chases it.

"Chris…" Addison props her hands on her hips.

"It's okay, Mom, he's not gonna eat it," Christa assures her mother, and Derek has to hide a smile. Of course their sweet, animal-loving daughter assumes Addison is worried about Arturo's health rather than the potential of rotting vegetables lingering under the couch.

"Maybe you should keep him upstairs while we cook," Addison suggests to Christa.

There's a moment of silence in the kitchen while all three Shepherds imagine a home in which Arturo could be compelled to do … anything. Other than keeping his claws and teeth off his beloved mistress – Addison and Derek's one requirement – Arturo is not exactly a compliant cat. In addition to costing them a small fortune in the specialized food Christa researched at school ("it's an independent study," she beamed, and she did get an A…), Arturo likes to supplement his diet with one or two of Addison's pricey shoes per month, and the occasional half-purse to wash it down.

"He'll be good," Christa says. Derek looks at his daughter. Addison likes to say she's inherited his optimism, and it certainly seems to be in effect right now.

 _Arturo_ , good?

"Just don't let him eat the turkey."

"We don't have a turkey," Christa says.

"We will have a turkey, when Daddy goes to get it." Addison glances at him. "Because we can't just order a regular turkey from Eli's like normal people. It has to be special."

"Eli's turkey isn't free range," Derek frowns.

"Eli's is better than free range. It's the best location in the city! Why would a turkey want to be anywhere else?"

"It's a _heritage_ turkey," Derek reminds her. "Fresh and delicious – and local."

"And far away," Addison shakes her head. "And not ready until today. But otherwise great."

"That's the spirit," Derek says approvingly.

"If Grandma's all better, how come she didn't want to have Thanksgiving?"

Addison glances at Derek. "She's recovered from surgery, sweetie, but hosting Thanksgiving is a lot of work."

"Oh." Christa considers his words. "How come Aunt Nancy isn't doing it?"

"Because it's nice to take turns."

"What about Aunt Kathy?"

"Honey, can you just – "

A loud noise interrupts them.

Very, very loud.

Christa drops her cranberries and claps her hands over her ears.

Addison and Derek exchange a nervous glance.

"I volunteer you," Addison says with a broad smile. "Consider it an early Thanksgiving present."

..

Derek ascends the stairs with no small amount of trepidation.

The ear-splitting shrieks get louder as he approaches.

"You are so quiet, I almost didn't hear you," Derek teases as he opens the nursery door.

There, chubby hands gripping the sides of a double-reinforced crib, his son is standing, blond hair tousled from sleep, cheeks flushed, yelling.

Not crying.

Yelling.

He stops as soon as he sees his father and smiles, showing off the four little teeth that perfectly match the imprints he's left in each family member.

"You do know we have a baby monitor." Derek lifts his son out of the crib and kisses the top of his sweet-scented head. "So we can hear you. You don't actually need to project all the way to Staten Island."

Jack responds by cheerfully babbling his few words – just the important ones, _Dada, Mama, No-No_ – his name for Christa, quite possibly inspired by her reaction to his destructive tendencies.

Derek changes him, which as usual is half hygiene and half wrestling match, and then scoops him up again before Jack can launch himself off the changing table.

"What do you think – you want to come down to the kitchen and help us cook, buddy?"

"No-No," Jack says.

"No-No is helping us cook too," Derek assures him.

Jack considers this. "Ba," he says finally.

"Hungry? That's even more reason to go to the kitchen." Derek pokes his son gently in the stomach to make him laugh – and it works. "You're going to be very good and not eat anything inedible or break any furniture, right, buddy? Mommy's not in the best mood because when she insisted on hosting Thanksgiving dinner, she forgot how much work it is."

"Mama," Jack agrees.

"That's right, Mama is wearing an apron and she's elbow deep in sweet potatoes, so we probably shouldn't mess with her."

Jack reaches up and grabs a handful of his father's hair.

"So we're in agreement, then. Good."

..

"No-No!" Jack shrieks with glee when he spots his sister; Derek hands him off and Christa leads him to the play area in the corner of the big kitchen.

"Is it just me, or was that a short nap?" Derek glances at Addison, who hasn't responded. "Addie? Is something wrong?"

She turns to glare at him.

"What's that you told Jack? _You know we have a baby monitor?_ " Addison props her hands on her hips.

Derek swallows. "Uh, it picks up noise from all the way across the room, huh?"

"It does." Addison shakes her head. "I'm _not in the best mood_?" she repeats icily.

"No," Derek says quickly. "Yes? I'm sorry," he adds sincerely. "I just wanted Jack to be nice to you. As in, bite you fewer times than usual."

She can't seem to keep from smiling a little at that. Derek leans in and kisses her, wincing a little at the bitterness.

"I tried a raw cranberry," Addison admits. "It was a little tart."

It's Derek's turn to smile. Addison doesn't seem annoyed with him anymore, and when Jack speeds over and pulls at the hem of her apron, it seals the improvement of her mood.

She bends down to scoop up her son. He snuggles close and then tucks one bare foot into the pocket of her apron.

Christa climbs back onto her stool and inspects the bowl of raw cranberries.

"You said we _all_ decided to have Thanksgiving here," she points out as she digs through the round red globes.

"We did," Derek says quickly. "I was just – kidding upstairs."

"And he didn't realize the baby monitor would pick it up," Addison says cheerfully.

"That too," Derek admits.

"It's nice hosting Thanksgiving here," Addison says firmly, jiggling Jack a little on her hip. Then she pauses. "I was preheating the oven, but … does something smell like it's burning?"

..

A little while later, after Jack is safe in his playpen with Christa guarding his exit, and Derek has retrieved the owner's manual from the smoking oven and dealt with the dripping plastic, Addison flops onto one of the kitchen chairs.

"I need a drink."

"I think you probably need all your wits about you," Derek suggests as gently as he can, earning a glare in return.

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

" _You_ talked _me_ into this," Derek reminds her.

"Okay, then I can't believe _I_ talked _you_ into this." Addison sighs.

"I guess we talked each other into it," Derek admits.

"Why?" Addison shakes her head, her lips curving up into a smile.

"Because … we make decisions as a family," Derek says optimistically.

He nods toward baby Jack, a prime example of that.

Naming their new baby was a family decision.

 _Jack_ for Derek's Uncle John, who taught him to drive.

His middle name – that was Addison's choice.

She blushes a little when he reminds her now. "It's an old family name," she says defensively.

Derek glances out of the kitchen to make sure Christa's not in earshot, then leans closer to Addison. "So it's not because you made me watch _Gladiator_ the night we –"

"Hey, Chris!" Addison says brightly and Derek looks up quickly, only to see she was teasing. He pulls her in for a quick hug.

That was a good night.

And the baby who resulted was named by all three Shepherds together. His first name was Derek's choice, his middle name Addison's.

…and his full name, _Jack Russell_ , wasfor Christa, who attempted several times during Addison's pregnancy to barter her unborn brother for a puppy.

Jack might as well be a puppy for the level of enthusiasm he has toward his older sister. Derek is convinced his son learned to crawl specifically to follow Christa around, and his early walking sealed the deal.

He's not the smoothest of walkers, nor the most coordinated, but he's –

"Fast," Christa moans, crossing the kitchen threshold just after Jack. "He's so fast. I can't even close my bedroom door."

"Why do you want to close your bedroom door?"

Christa rolls her eyes – a new habit, and one that thrills neither parent, but Addison has assured Derek based on her _Don't Trust and Definitely Verify: Surviving the Tween Years_ book is perfectly normal. "Why not?" she challenges, and then chases Jack back into the living room.

Derek pauses, then glances at his wife. "You realize the way we timed this Jack is going to hit the terrible twos right when Christa hits the terrible teens."

Addison considers this. "There's not much we can do about that now."

"You're so practical," he says, leaning in for a kiss. "And who knows, maybe it will be easy."

"And _you're_ such an optimist." She kisses him back. "I wouldn't want it any other way. And Chris might be a little trying right now, but she'll go back to-"

"Mom!" Christa shrieks at a decibel sure to be heard across the country. "Jack bit me!"

..

Once they've assured themselves that Jack hardly left a mark in Christa's arm, and Addison has deposited their protesting son in his wheeled walker, Derek glances at his watch.

"We should probably go pick up the turkey."

"Right." Addison dries her hands on her apron, then sighs. "You're going to hit traffic."

"We won't."

"It's the biggest travel day of the year," Addison reminds him.

"Not to Queens, it isn't." Derek beams at her. "Isn't it great that there are farms in Queens? Who knew?"

"Christa knew." Addison leans in to kiss him goodbye. "Drive carefully."

She pulls Christa's hat lower over her ears; their daughter promptly tugs it higher. At _almost eleven,_ she's far too mature for the animal-ear hats she favored over the years, but her soft grey scarf does have stitched-on raccoon paws at either end. Addison hugs her close for a moment. "Come straight back here, okay? I need all the help I can get with Thanksgiving dinner."

..

They hit traffic.

They spend so long on the 59th Street Bridge that Derek is pretty sure he could have gotten out of the car and walked to the farm faster.

But he's not complaining – other than guilt for leaving Addison to deal with both the cooking and their tireless son, he's enjoying the time in the car with Christa, who tends to open up on long car rides.

"… and Sadie's parents got her a makeup thing for her birthday. Like, you go and they put makeup _on_ you."

Derek nods. "Which Sadie? Sadie R.?"

"Sadie B.," Christa says. "Sadie R. doesn't like makeup."

 _Good._ They're only ten. Almost eleven, sure, but still! Derek glances quickly at Christa's sweet freckled face. He's quite positive there's no way to improve that face – certainly none that you can buy at Sephora.

"How about you?" he asks casually. "Do you like makeup?"

"No," Christa says immediately. "It makes my face itch."

"Oh." Derek considers whether _Surviving Tween Terror_ would have a problem with his response. He could say _good_ , but that seems to be shaming the idea of wanting to wear makeup.

Which he has.

He has a big problem with it.

But apparently surviving tween terror means pretending not to.

"Remember when Katie put it on me at Christmas that time?" Christa asks, naming one of her older cousins. She wrinkles her nose.

"You can tell her not to do that," Derek says, frowning a little.

"Dad, I know that. But it's okay," Christa shrugs. "She probably won't try again 'cause last time they were at our house, Arturo took her lipstick."

"Did he put it on?"

"No!" Christa giggles. "He put it under the couch. That's where his treasures are."

"Right." Derek reminds himself to move the couch and sweep under it before his family comes.

 _Makeup._ He's quite certain Christa was born only a few years ago. She was toddling across hardwood floors with her two pudgy little fists wrapped around his index fingers – was it last month? And surely it was last week they dropped her off for her first day of school in red gingham pinafore and pigtails.

A loud horn interrupts his thoughts.

"We're moving!" Christa cheers, then pauses. "Dad, that guy is giving you the –"

"Don't worry about it," Derek says hastily, taking his foot off the brake.

..

Steuben's Family Farm is cheerful and small – it's hard to believe it's just across the bridge – and it certainly _smells_ like a farm. Derek wrinkles his nose; Christa sighs happily.

"Are we going to go out to the paddocks?" she asks eagerly.

"Oh … not this time, sweetie. We can come back another time and see the animals."

"So the farmer will just bring us the turkey?"

"We'll go into the shop." Derek points. "See, that's where they keep the food they're selling."

"Food?" Christa looks confused. "What do you mean?"

Sudden horror seizes him. "Honey … when I said I was going to pick up the turkey … I mean, you know we're hosting Thanksgiving dinner, right?"

Christa nods, still smiling.

"Right, so that means that we need to – I mean, we're buying – well – "

Her blue eyes are so wide and innocent. He cringes thinking of how she'll react when they're handed a hairless pink turkey carcass. He was certain she understood.

Didn't he tell her? Or Addison? Or both of them?

Christa's known the facts of life since she could talk, but somehow neither of them managed The Talk when it comes to buying Thanksgiving turkeys.

And it's not in any of the tween-survival books Addison bought them, either.

"Chris," Derek says gently, "let's talk for a minute before we-"

A loud squawk interrupts him.

"Look, Dad, that's him!" Christa beams.

Derek winces. A tanned and seemingly serene farmer is approaching, holding a large wire cage. The large wire cage is holding a large

And not very pretty

And _not_ very happy

Turkey.

"That's him!" Christa says again, sounding thrilled. "Does he have a name?" she asks the farmer.

"No," Derek says.

"Olivia," the farmer says, smiling at Christa. "And it's a her. Most Thanksgiving turkeys are hens."

Christa nods, probably filing it away in the animal reference library she keeps in her head.

The farmer sets down the wire cage, and Derek smiles awkwardly, ready to right the misunderstanding.

"Hi, Olivia." Christa kneels down in front of the pen happily. The turkey – who looks quite vicious to Derek, pecks its way over to see her.

"Not so close, Chris." Derek tugs on the collar of her coat.

"Oh, Olivia won't hurt her. She's a sweet girl, aren't you," the farmer says. True to his word, the turkey stops in front of Christa and then moves its head back and forth in a way that looks revolting to Derek but seems to charm both Christa and the farmer.

Derek turns to the farmer, keeping his voice down for Christa's sake. "I placed an order for Shepherd," he says quietly. "One twenty-two pound organic free range heritage turkey."

"Yup."

"… okay, so do I go into the shop to buy it, or …?"

"That's your turkey," the farmer says, not sounding concerned at all. Bored, even.

"That's not a turkey," Derek says. "I mean, that's a turkey, but it's not a … Thanksgiving turkey."

"Why not?"

"Because it's alive!" Derek hisses.

"I'll wring his neck for you before you go."

Derek swallows hard. Kneeling in the scrubby grass, Christa is cooing to the turkey.

"Uh, okay," he says uncertainly. He rests a hand on the top of Christa's hat-covered head. "Chris, honey, we should get going," Derek says. "Why don't we go wait in the shop, and –"

"Wait for what?" Christa turns around, her expression guileless.

"For …" Derek glances at the farmer for help. The farmer mimes wringing a neck and Derek makes frantic _stop_ gestures at him as subtly as he can. "For … me to pay," he says finally.

..

"Can I sit in back with Olivia?" Christa asks happily as Derek opens the car door.

Derek and the farmer exchange a look.

"Um…"

"Remember, I don't do house calls," the farmer tells him as they settle up. "You take her live, then you're responsible for killing her."

Derek winces at the word _killing_. "Right. The thing is, I thought she'd already be … dead … when I got here."

" _Fresh_ turkeys," the farmer says as if Derek is the stupidest man he's ever encountered. "We sell _fresh_ turkeys. Why would they be dead?"

Derek's not sure, but he's quite certain that _he_ is going to be dead when Addison realizes he's brought home a live turkey.

"So," the farmer smiles and holds Derek's credit card just out of reach. "You're going to need some starter feed for that bird of yours, a pen, and a heat lamp or two …"

..

"Christa, can you try to quiet her down," Derek pleads as he struggles with the heavy bags of feed.

"Shh, Olivia," Christa coos, rocking the large and quite ugly turkey in her arms. "Be nice and quiet and I'll feed you something delicious when we get inside."

"Addie?" Derek calls quietly, satisfied when she doesn't answer. He turns to his daughter. "Okay, Chris, we have the cage and the heat lamps, we just need to figure out a place to put Olivia before –"

"Is that a _turkey_?"

Derek winces at Addison's shriek. "…before your mother sees," he finishes weakly.

"I'm imagining this," Addison says. "Right? You did not just bring a live turkey into my – Christa, get some newspapers, honey, before he –"

" _She_ ," Christa corrects. "I'll clean it up, Mom," she adds hastily, disappearing into the bathroom with Olivia in her arms.

Addison covers her eyes with one hand for a minute. "Derek … it's not really a turkey, is it?"

Olivia squawks loudly.

"Turkey!" Jack yells, zooming by on his wheeled walker. Or close enough, anyway.

"Honey, Jack has a new word!" Derek nods encouragingly at Addison.

"He should have used it for a _cooked_ turkey, Derek," she hisses. "Not – an _alive_ turkey!"

"She was alive when we got there," Derek explains.

"She – _she_? The turkey is a she?"

"Actually, most Thanksgiving turkeys are hens."

"That's fascinating trivia, Derek, but also most Thanksgiving turkeys are _dead_."

"The farmer was going to kill it in front of us, Addie," he explains, keeping his voice low. "Christa was already playing with it and …"

"I knew she should have stayed home." Addison shakes her head. "You realize we've been banned from two fish places at this point. I have to buy salmon in secret!"

Christa emerges from the bathroom with Olivia in her arms and proceeds to spray and scrub the floor.

"Thank you, honey," Addison says wearily. "Look, Chris …" Addison kneels down on the floor next to her. "We're not going to be able to … serve turkey … at dinner tomorrow," she starts gently.

"That's okay! We can have Tofurkey!" Christa beams. "It's shaped like turkey, but we don't have to kill any animals."

Addison stands up and directs her next words to Derek. "I think there was a mix-up at the hospital. Somewhere there's a nice animal-loving farm couple with a kid who just wants sushi and steak tartare."

She turns back to Christa. "Find somewhere to put that thing that will keep it from making any more messes, okay? Derek – can I see you in the kitchen?"

Derek follows Addison through the archway.

"What if Arturo kills that turkey?" Addison demands.

"Then we can eat it?" Derek suggests.

Addison looks like she's trying very hard not to laugh.

"Mom?" Christa calls from the living room. "Dad? I need a credit card so I can order this deluxe turkey bed. It's heated and everything so it mimics the outdoors!"

"You know what mimics the outdoors?" Addison hisses for Derek's ears only. " _The outdoors._ Where you should have left this turkey!"

Derek smiles weakly at Christa, who's sitting cross legged on the floor, one hand petting Olivia and the other typing away at Derek's laptop that rests the low slung coffee table.

"Uh … how much is it?" Derek asks nervously.

She tells them.

"Well, there you go, no question – she's definitely your kid," Derek mutters when Christa is re-occupied with her new pet. "No respectable farmer would buy a turkey bed that costs as much as a car."

..

They talk Christa down from the turkey bed ledge, and Derek helps her set up a comfortable looking pen for Olivia.

"But she can walk around too, once I've litter trained her, right?" Christa asks.

"Um … let's see what Mom says," Derek suggests. "Look, she likes it in here." He flicks on the heat lamp and the turkey heads toward it eagerly.

Christa watches.

"And she's safer from Arturo," Derek points out.

"Arturo wouldn't hurt her," Christa says firmly. "But if he wanted to, he could put his paw between the bars anyway."

He can't really argue with that.

"Let's leave her here overnight, honey, and we'll figure everything out tomorrow."

"But she can –"

"Not in your room," Derek says.

Christa looks like she's gearing up to argue.

"Your room is Arturo's space," Derek adds, hoping he sounds sincere. "It might be hard on him that there's another animal here. Remember when we brought Jack home, and – "

"Okay, Olivia can stay in the kitchen," Christa says.

Derek sighs.

Why does it feel like Addison might not consider this semi-victory as impressive as he does?

..

"Where's the main course?" Addison asks him suspiciously when he opens the bedroom door.

"In her pen, in the kitchen," Derek admits.

" _Her._ " Addison shakes her head. "Derek, I can live with Arturo, even though he hates both of us – but me more," she sighs. "But not a turkey. A turkey isn't a pet! A turkey is _food._ "

"Okay," Derek says. "Look, we don't have to keep her. It. Whatever. We'll bring her back to the farm or – donate her somewhere – but we're not going to find anyone to take her at nine o'clock at night the night before Thanksgiving."

"Then what are we going to eat tomorrow?"

Derek pauses.

"Tofurkey?"

She throws a pillow at him.

..

The phone rings at 6 a.m.

They're not a family accustomed to sleeping late – two doctors, a one-year-old, and a very active tween – but it's still a bit early for a call from –

"It's your mother." Addison elbows Derek gently, then a little less gently. "Derek – your mother is calling. At six o'clock in the morning," she adds.

Derek takes the phone. "Hi, Mom," he says wearily. "No, it's fine, we were up – ow! Nothing," he says quickly when she inquires. "Everything's fine. …Addison? Uh…" He pauses.

"No," Addison mouths frantically. "I'm not here."

Derek covers the receiver with his hand. "Where would you be at 6 a.m.?" he whispers.

"I don't know," Addison whispers back. "Anywhere. Dead? Tell her I'm dead."

Derek shakes his head. "She's right here."

Addison rolls her eyes and grabs the phone. "Hi, Mom," she says with forced cheer. "No, we were up. … Yes, I agree that early risers get more done. … Yes, I also agree that idle hands are the devil's workers."

She pauses.

"You want me to guess what you're most looking forward to at tonight's dinner?" Addison rolls her eyes for Derek's benefit; he reminds himself to tell her Christa obviously got that habit from her mother.

"I don't know – Kathy's stuffing? No?" Addison mouths _help_ at Derek. "Okay, Nancy's pie? Uh … the green bean thing … with the stuff …?" Addison can't seem to bring herself to say _casserole._ "Not that either, huh?" She shoots Derek a look of desperation.

"Oh," Addison says faintly. "The _crispy golden turkey_. I should have guessed. Yes, Mom, I know that the outside looks done before the inside – hey, why don't you talk to Christa?" Addison puts the phone on speaker.

"Chris, honey, Grandma's on the phone!"

Christa bounds in and directs her voice to the speaker.

"Grandma, guess what? I got a –"

"An A! She got an A on her science project," Derek interrupts hastily. "Right, Chris?"

"Right," Christa says slowly. "But I was going to tell Grandma that – "

"Oh my goodness, the sweet potatoes are bubbling over," Addison cuts her off this time. "Yes, Mom, I know that sweet potatoes shouldn't bubble. We'll see you later, okay? Christa, say goodbye to Grandma," Addison instructs, and then she hangs up with relief.

"I wanted to tell her about Olivia," Christa says. "Grandma always says she loves turkey." She pauses. " _Ohh_ ," she says softly.

..

"Family meeting," Addison announces, retying her apron.

"Let me just get Arturo," Christa says.

"Honey, he doesn't need to – okay, fine." Addison sighs. "Wouldn't want the cat to miss a family meeting."

Once all the Shepherds are settled – Derek, Addison, Christa, Jack, Arturo, and Olivia, who juts her neck out at frequent intervals – they can begin.

"Sweet potatoes?" Addison holds up her checklist.

"You peeled them and chopped them," Christa reminds her mother, then pauses. "Where are they now?"

Addison pauses. "I'm not sure. Somewhere, I think. Derek, you're in charge of the Brussels sprouts."

"Arturo ran off with half of them."

At the sound of him name, Arturo perks up. He's been watching the loose skin on Olivia's neck hungrily, though he's devoted enough to Christa that he hasn't made a single swipe.

"Fine, then just make sure to roast the other half. The way Lizzie does it, so your mother doesn't complain."

"My mother never complains."

"Your mother _always_ complains."

"Addie…"

"We do have one slight problem," Addison says. "It's Thanksgiving morning, and I've already called every store I know to see if they have …" She glances at Christa. "…options," she says euphemistically.

"And?"

"And they don't," Addison says with heavy sarcasm in her tone. "Shockingly, because it's not last minute or anything."

"It's okay," Derek says, hoping he sounds convincing. "My mother won't notice."

"Your mother told me she's most looking forward to turkey," Addison says, "and I don't think she means our new pet."

"She'll be fine. I'll – call my sisters."

"Oh, to see if one of them has a spare turkey sitting around?" Addison pauses. "Actually, knowing Liz, she might."

Derek nods.

"Okay, what else is on the list – setting the table?"

"Me," Christa says. "Jack is going to help."

Their son, who has been hurling soft blocks at the sides of the play fence, looks up at his name. "Bye," he says.

"That means yes," Christa reminds them.

"Okay. What else?"

"I'm making the salad," Christa announces. "With walnuts and little dried cranberries and goat cheese."

"That sounds great," Derek tells her, then pauses. "Did we buy lettuce?"

Addison shakes her head.

"Okay, we'll figure something out."

"I can go to Gristede's," Christa offers.

"You're turkey-sitting," Addison reminds her.

"Oh, yeah."

Derek and Addison exchange a glance.

"Derek, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?"

..

"Okay, listen to me. I have an idea."

"Good." Derek sighs with relief. "What is it?"

"I'll kill Olivia, and we tell Christa she ran away."

Derek laughs. "You can't kill Olivia."

"Why not?"

He considers this. "How do you know how to kill a turkey?"

"Derek, I'm a surgeon. I'm sure I can figure out how to kill a turkey."

"Christa's going to be upset."

"Not if we tell her Olivia ran away."

"If we tell her that, she'll want to organize a search party and we'll all end up in Central Park making realistic turkey calls to try to attract Olivia back."

"Not if …" Addison thinks for a moment, "not if we convince her Olivia's happier in the wild."

"I'm game if you are."

Addison pauses. "Pun intended?"

"Pun intended."

"Hey, Chris?" Addison calls, leaning out of the open doorway. "I think you should run to Gristede's after all. Dad will go with you."

..

Addison … is face to face with death.

Or at least she's planning on it.

Right now she's face to face with life – a live turkey. A very large, very smelly live turkey who keeps doing that head-sticking-out neck thing that kind of looks like a dance move. It's disconcerting.

Addison picks up the butcher knife. "See, Olivia, it's called a butcher knife for a reason," she says softly. "Okay, so, look, I really hate to do this. Which is why I prefer to pay people to do this, but … apparently that didn't work."

Head bob. Head bob.

"You understand, right?"

The turkey stops moving.

"Maybe it's better that way." Addison reaches for the turkey, then stops.

"Okay, um, Olivia, I just want to say that I really am sorry about this, but my mother-in-law is not going to settle for a Tofurkey. I'm pretty sure she still thinks tofu is a Communist plot." She sighs. "I kind of need her to like this Thanksgiving dinner. I have a lot to make up for. You know how it is. Or do you?" She pauses. "I guess if you're a heritage turkey, then you knew your turkey mom."

Olivia juts her neck out a few times.

"I bet she was delicious," Addison sighs, and then raises the knife.

..

"You think Olivia's okay by herself?" Christa asks anxiously.

"She's not by herself, Chris. Mom's with her." Derek tries to shake off the guilt of turning his wife into a pet-murderer. Really, it's the farmer's fault for not selling dead birds.

"Yeah," Christa says, not sounding convinced. She switches the bright yellow grocery sack to her other hand. In his nerves about the imminent demise of Olivia, Derek barely glanced at the grocery cart; as a result, he ended up purchasing four kinds of lettuce and an imported cheese that had better have gold flecks in it.

Christa hops from foot to foot at the corner while they wait for the light to change. "It's cold!"

"Where are your gloves?" Derek frowns.

"I left them in Olivia's bed. She likes wool."

Derek takes the grocery bag from his daughter, hoping that Addison removes the gloves before she slaughters the turkey. "Put them in your pockets, at least."

"When it gets warmer, we can put Olivia out back in the garden," Christa is saying as they walk up their block. "I looked up a lot of stuff. And we can have an outdoor pen and everything. We have to build it. Maybe we can build it together."

Derek smiles down at her. "I'd love to build something together," he says, feeling guilty.

Christa beams. "Not 'til spring though, we don't want her to get cold."

"We don't want that," he echoes, reaching for his keys.

"Olivia's being loud," Christa says as the door opens and squawks fill the air, trying to peer in front of Derek. "I should go see if she needs anything."

"No!" Derek moves his body in front of the door.

Christa gives him a curious look.

"I mean … I just realized we forgot something."

"What did we forget?"

"Coffee. Your mom needs coffee."

"She does?"

 _Or a stiff drink._

"Yes, she does." Derek stows the grocery bags and closes the front door, hustling Christa down the front steps.

..

The next time he opens the front door he does it slowly, cautiously – and hears nothing but blessed silence.

"Addie?" he calls tentatively toward the kitchen, a hand on Christa's shoulder to keep her from running in, just in case. "Everything okay in there?"

"… everything's fine," Addison calls after a pause.

"Good." Derek glances at Christa. "Go wash your hands, sweetie," he instructs, waiting until she's halfway down the hall to the powder room before he takes a deep breath and heads for the kitchen.

He crosses the kitchen threshold alone. He has to admit he's not eager to see a dead turkey, not the least because Addison insisted he's the one who has to pluck it, but sometimes a man just needs to do what has to be done. He steels himself for the side of the dead bird.

And then he stops in his tracks.

There's no dead bird.

Addison and Olivia are sitting across from each other at the breakfast nook, Addison with a glass of red wine, Olivia with a crystal goblet of what smells – strongly – of starter feed.

Derek blinks.

"I tried," Addison says defensively. "But it didn't work."

"It didn't work?"

"It didn't work," she repeats with dignity.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Maybe that's because the two of you are having cocktails. Did you try using a knife, or were you planning to just kill her with kindness?"

"Very funny. You know, Derek … this is your mother's fault."

"What? How do you figure that?"

"And Olivia agrees," Addison says primly. "You know, that neck thing aside, she's a pretty good listener."

"A good – what?"

Olivia juts her neck back and forth.

"Told you," Addison says.

..

"Family meeting," Derek announces once Jack has gone down for a nap.

"Another one?" Christa looks cute in an oversized ruffled apron. She dries her hands. "I was gonna wash my lettuce."

"It'll be quick," Addison assures her. "Arturo can sit this one out," she adds.

She waits until they're assembled.

"So. We have three hours until your mother and sisters get here," Addison says. "We have to make the sweet potatoes, roast the Brussels sprouts, make the tablescape –"

Derek raises his eyebrows.

" _Make the tablescape,_ " Addison repeats firmly. "I need to shower. And Christa, you need to wash your hair."

"Why?"

"Because it smells like turkey," Addison says patiently. Christa takes a handful of reddish-brown waves and sniffs it experimentally, then nods in agreement.

"And what about the – " Derek glances at Christa, then sticks his neck out a few times, miming _turkey_.

"I put in a few calls," Addison says. "And I found a chicken in the freezer."

"You did?"

She nods. "Rosa must have bought it for us. I can't quite make out the date on the plastic, but I'm pretty sure it starts with a '20'."

"Great," Derek says. "We can stuff it and … that will be delicious. What?" he asks at Christa's expression.

"No Tofurkey?"

"There's always next year," Derek says patiently. "And you have plenty of vegetarian sides to eat, Chris."

"Only three hours," Addison reminds them. "And Jack should wake up in about … forty-five minutes."

They exchange terrified glances, then – as one – they nod.

"I'll go see how many Brussels sprouts are under the couch," Derek says.

"I'll go wash my hair," Christa says.

"And I'll go try to chop the ice off the chicken," Addison says.

She follows Derek into the living room. "I really think it's going to be okay," she says. "Turkey and chicken are basically the same thing, right? And we'll figure out somewhere to put Olivia so your mother doesn't notice, maybe in one of the upstairs bathrooms – turkeys like water, right? – oh, let me just get the phone."

She disappears into the kitchen, and then returns with a look of horror on her face.

"Addie?"

"That was your mother," Addison says grimly. "Traffic was _oh_ so light and she's coming early."

"Early," Derek repeats faintly.

"Mom!" Christa calls from upstairs. "Can I use your bubble bath?"

"Sure – wait, for you or for Olivia?" Addison calls back.

There's a long pause.

"Me," Christa says, not very convincingly.

"Derek…"

"Chris, Grandma's going to be here soon, so you're going to have to bathe the turkey later," Addison calls up the stairs.

She turns to Derek. "I never really thought I'd say those words."

"Parenthood is full of surprises," Derek says sagely, raising an innocent eyebrow when Addison glares at him.

..

Twenty minutes later, they gather at the foot of the stairs. Addison inspects their baby son first – Jack is still wearing the striped pajamas he napped in rather than the adorable Thanksgiving outfit she bought for him, but he's awake and not crying and she doesn't see any tooth marks on Derek, so that's something.

As for their daughter, Christa's long hair is still wet, but she's wearing a dress – okay, with fuzzy shearling boots and the dress is a little shorter than Addison remembers, probably due to the growth spurt, but it's something. She has Arturo in her arms, but on the plus side he's not hissing.

And Addison can't exactly complain about her children's clothing; she herself is on her third outfit since something in the kitchen keeps spattering; she's finally given up on actual shoes and is wearing Derek's topsiders.

She glances at her husband and shakes her head.

Somehow … Derek looks _good._ Refreshed, even. So Addison is relieved to see, at least, that his socks are two different colors.

No one's perfect.

"Okay. Okay. This is good," Addison says, trying to keep mania out of her tone. "We're doing great. We're basically ready."

Christa sniffs the air.

"Is something burning?" Addison asks frantically. "Derek, were you watching the oven?"

He frowns. "Is something in the oven?"

"Turkey," Jack says happily.

"Derek!" Addison is wringing her hands.

"Turkey!" Jack shouts, louder this time.

"There's no turkey, buddy. We're going to have some nice sweet potatoes and – what is she doing down here?" Derek demands.

Olivia flaps her wings.

"She's supposed to be upstairs," Addison reminds their daughter.

Before Christa can respond, a piercing wail breaks the air.

"Mom, the smoke alarm's going off!"

Olivia squawks.

Arturo hisses.

Jack bursts into tears.

Of course it's at _that_ moment the doorbell rings.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Carolyn Shepherd calls from outside the door.

* * *

 _To be continued - if you want! Should I write what happens next? Happy (American) Thanksgiving to those who celebrate(d), and happy fluffy Friday to everyone! Please review and let me know what you think, and thank you so much! xoxo_


	2. Carolyn

_**A/N: You ever feel like you just need some Addek fluff? Yeah, me too. I know it's February, and a lot of you may be distracted by the Superbowl, but here in Addekland it's Thanksgiving. I had almost forgotten about this story and then I got a message about Christa's cat Arturo and his taste for Addison's shoes and purses and, well, I couldn't resist re-visiting the family. So here we go: back to the brownstone on Thanksgiving Day where Carolyn showed up early and Addison couldn't bring herself to kill a turkey. I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!**_

* * *

 ** _Gobble, Gobble  
_ Chapter 2: Carolyn  
..**

* * *

 _"Happy Thanksgiving!" Carolyn Shepherd calls from outside the door._

For a brief moment, all the assembled indoor Shepherds – human and not-quite-human, from baby to turkey – are silent.

Then Carolyn rings the doorbell again, rather pointedly in Addison's opinion, and everyone leaps into action ... and back into noise.

"Chris, get Olivia upstairs and shut her somewhere."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Your bathroom, I guess. And close the door," Addison instructs rapidly.

"What about Arturo?"

"Shut him … somewhere else." Addison jiggles a wailing Jack in her arms, trying to calm him down; his high pitched cries perfectly match –

"Derek … the smoke alarm!"

"Got it." He pauses. "But someone needs to answer the door," he points out.

"Your mother is not coming in this house while the smoke alarm is going off. Please, go take the batteries out or something."

"What if something's burning?"

"Just – go!"

"That sounds safe," he mutters.

Addison throws the hand that isn't holding the baby heavenward. "Whose side are you on? Go!" She turns to their daughter. "Chris – grab that turkey."

"I'm trying!"

Derek hastens toward the kitchen while Christa attempts to catch Olivia. The turkey is apparently energized from its starter feed, because she's fast.

"Christa …" Addison shifts a wriggling, yelping Jack to her other hip. "You need to get that turkey upstairs."

"I'm trying," she pleads, "but she's faster than she looks!"

One well timed leap and Christa gets her arms around Olivia. Arturo puts his nose in the air, swipes half-heartedly at Addison's shin, and leads the pack of three up the stairs.

Addison exhales. Of course, it would be easier to concentrate if the smoke alarm would stop blaring – and the doorbell would stop ringing – and Jack would stop crying –

Finally, there's a moment of blessed silence. Derek must have taken the batteries out.

Jack suddenly stops crying as if his batteries, too, have been removed. " _Turkey_ ," Jack shouts happily, and grabs a fistful of Addison's hair just as she pulls open the front door.

"Turkey," Carolyn repeats, looking over her eyeglasses at Addison. "Exactly what I was thinking. What a smart little boy."

"Mom!" Addison says with as much cheer as she can manage. "Happy Thanksgiving. Um. Sorry, I didn't hear the doorbell. I was … too far away."

"I saw the top of your head through the glass," her mother-in-law says, indicating the transparent panels on the front door.

Oh.

"It's a very quiet doorbell," Addison tries. When Carolyn still doesn't look convinced, she thrusts the baby into her mother-in-law's arms.

Nothing calms Carolyn Shepherd like a grandchild, particularly a new one.

Even if she has to quickly drop her large quilted bag to catch the baby.

And if Carolyn is suspicious that she's suddenly holding Jack when she's only half a step over the threshold into the brownstone, she doesn't let us. Instead, she focuses on cooing to Jack, who blows an appreciative raspberry at the focused attention.

"He's gotten so big. And he must have just been napping, with these adorable pajamas."

 _… instead of actual clothes._

(Yes, Addison is practiced at reading into her mother-in-law's harmless comments.)

"Oh my, look at those teeth." Carolyn smiles at the baby.

"Don't bite Grandma," Addison says hastily.

"I'm sure he wouldn't bite anyone, the little angel. Oh, he looks just like Derek."

Addison has seen Derek's baby pictures, and she's quite certain that's an overstatement at best, but she lets it go.

"Mom, Happy Thanksgiving!" Derek emerges from the kitchen looking only slightly disheveled from his battle with the smoke detector.

"Happy Thanksgiving, darling."

"I see you already have the baby." Derek smiles at her. "Just be careful, because he – "

Carolyn yelps with surprise as her grandson grabs the glasses from her face.

"No, Jack," Derek says quickly, detaching the spectacles from his son's strong grip. "Don't touch, remember."

"Turkey," Jack protests angrily, reaching for the glasses again.

"Mom, maybe it would be better if you …"

" … suddenly didn't need glasses?" His mother raises her eyebrows. "Derek, dear, they're not a fashion statement."

Even Derek notices she gives Addison a disapproving look along with the phrase _fashion statement._

"I need the glasses to see," Carolyn continues. "And besides, I've raised five children and Jack is my sixteenth grandchild. He's hardly the first to try to steal a pair of glasses."

"Yes, but …" Derek's voice trails off. He's not sure he, his sisters, any of his sisters' children, or Christa has been quite as … _determined_ … as Jack.

"It's fine, really. Hush." His mother bounces Jack in her arms. "Addie, dear, would you like me to get this child dressed?"

"No, thank you," Addison says with a tight smile.

"Good, then I have time to check on the dinner preparations." Carolyn beams at her daughter in law. "Why don't I have a look at the turkey – "

"You know what, if you could get his outfit on, that would be great," Addison says quickly, moving to direct Derek's mother to the staircase. "Derek, can you take Mom up to the nursery?"

"I know where the nursery is," Carolyn says, sounded affronted.

"Derek," Addison repeats.

"We moved it," Derek lies helplessly, making a _what do you expect me to do_ face at Addison when she glares at him. "Let's go, Mom, it will be nice to get some extra time together."

Carolyn doesn't seem able to contradict that, and off they go.

 _That was close._

..

"… and he's always dressed so nicely, but surely it would be easier to stick to hand-me-downs, especially when they grow so quickly, don't you think?"

Derek has mostly tuned his mother out, but now he checks back in.

"Yes," he says, hoping it's the right answer.

His mother nods smartly. "Good. Now. Let's put some clothes on this child."

She frowns when she sees the little outfit laid out on the pine dresser, with its white ferry-boat embossed drawer-pulls.

"Oh my," she says, stroking Jack's blond head. "Doesn't that look … fancy."

Derek just nods along. "Mom, why don't you let me help. Jack's very – strong."

"Nonsense, son, do you know how many babies I've dressed in my day?"

His mother is nothing if not efficient, so Derek just smiles weakly and lets it go.

And she does manage, after a fashion.

There's a broken necklace involved, a lot of hair-pulling, and an entire stack of clean laundry on the soft blue rug by the time she's finished.

But Jack is dressed, his hair sticking up at angles that attest to his struggle, in shades of grey and blue. Addison selected the delicate sweater and shirt and little pants, of course, and the precious suede shoes that both parents are well aware Jack will remove as soon as he can and hurl at the assembled Shepherds.

Still, he looks adorable, and Carolyn says as much, though Derek is pretty sure he also picks up the word _European._

It's possible his mother isn't quite as attached to French baby boutiques as his wife is, but thankfully Jack's four-toothed smile is sweet enough to distract everyone.

"Let's get him downstairs," Derek suggests, hoping to vacate the second floor before Olivia makes herself known.

So far, so silent, which suggests Christa has worked her magic.

They walk right into his daughter on the landing. She's pulling her bedroom door shut behind her, eyes wide when she sees her grandmother.

Carolyn holds out her arms and Christa hugs her, deftly avoiding her baby brother's attempt to grab a hank of her long hair. "Happy Thanksgiving, Grandma."

"Happy Thanksgiving, darling. Oh, look at you, you're getting so tall." She holds Christa away to look her up and down. "She really takes after Lizzie, Derek, don't you think?"

In the back of mind he hears Addison complaining _, your mother acts like I had zero input with Christa, genetic or otherwise!_

(That's how good his wife is, she can actually participate in conversations from a floor away.)

"Sure," he says, more to placate his mother than anything else. Out of her grandmother's sight, Christa makes a face at him that only serves to highlight her resemblance to Addison.

"What's this?" His mother examines something in her hand. "Christa, why is there a feather in your hair?"

"A feather in my hair?" Christa repeats, glancing at her father. "Well, it's …"

"Fashion," Derek says quickly. "It's very fashionable now, right, Chris? Mom, you know how Christa likes … fashion."

His voice fades a little at the end, hoping his mother has enough grandchildren not to remember offhand that Christa's interest in fashion extends exactly as far as ensuring she doesn't wear any fabrics that use animal-based dyes.

"Oh." His mother examines the feather. "It's an … accessory? Something you paid for?"

He hears her judgment. And he can't really blame her. The feather is long and dark brownish-black and unless it's his imagination it actually smells rather … gamey. Altogether, to a woman who barely likes spending money on things that are far more appealing than that, it must seem like a terrible waste.

"Well, we give her freedom with her allowance." Derek spreads his hands expansively.

"It looks very realistic," his mother adds.

"Let me just get rid of that," Derek suggests, taking the feather from his mother and shoving it in his pocket.

"Don't throw it out, that cost money!" His mother frowns.

"No, of course not." Derek glances at Christa. "Chris, honey, why don't you take Grandma downstairs and see if you can help with the table."

"Okay."

"Aren't you coming, dear?" his mother asks.

Derek hadn't planned to – he was going to check on Olivia, well aware that Christa can be trusted to excel at almost everything that involves animals … except confining them.

"Um … sure," he says, when he can't think of a good excuse. Jack holds his arms out to his father, kicking off one of his little grey shoes as he does. Derek takes his son and walks downstairs with his mother and daughter, casting the occasional nervous glance toward the second floor. They just need to keep everyone away from upstairs …

… and from the kitchen.

He silently kicks himself for every time he complained the brownstone was too big. He wouldn't mind an extra addition right about now just to keep their secrets.

Carolyn puts an arm around her granddaughter's shoulders. Though she doesn't pick favorites, Derek knows she's fond of Christa, whether it's because she was named for Derek's father, because of her sweet nature, or because she disapproves of small family's on instinct and believes Christa needs extra love.

Then she draws back, looking troubled. "Derek, Christa's hair is wet."

"I washed it," his daughter says.

"And you didn't have her dry it?" Carolyn looks at Derek like she's just found out he makes Christa sleep on the sidewalk. "It's freezing, Derek, she'll catch her death of cold."

Derek looks from the crackling fire in the fireplace, sending warm smoke through the living room at regular intervals, to the ancient radiators along the wall that pump not-always-welcome dry heat at nearly desert levels all autumn long. In fact, he has to brush some perspiration off his upper lip before he responds.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says weakly, one of Addison's favorite phrases when dealing with his mother's advice.

Miraculously … it seems to work.

..

"Look, Derek, Nancy and the kids came early too," Addison says through gritted teeth when they've reached the first floor, somehow injecting a note of false cheer he hopes only he can detect.

"I hope you don't mind. We'll stay out of the way," Nancy assures Derek as she kisses his cheek. He promises her they don't mind, though he's well aware that _stay out of the way_ is as far from Nancy's motto as _keep your opinions to yourself._

"Where's Doug?"

"He'll meet us. He had to check on a patient." Nancy hands Addison her fur-lined coat, which Derek hopes Christa won't notice.

"Kids, go play out of the way and let Uncle Derek and Aunt Addie finish getting ready," Nancy instructs, even though two-thirds of the children present are in high school.

"Dad, Jack bit – " Christa skids up and then stops talking when she sees her aunt and cousins.

"Hi," she says warily.

"Hi," her cousin, Tyler, responds, taking off his canvas knapsack and dropping it on the floor.

Tyler, Nancy's youngest, was born two weeks before Christa.

And of course Nancy declared this timing wonderful.

She also started comparing them as soon as she could, from APGAR scores to rolling over.

For their part, Tyler and Christa are sometime friends – usually when outdoor activities were involved – and occasionally bitter enemies. Tyler is a notoriously poor loser, which is challenging in a big family. Until Jack's birth, Nancy generally blamed their squabbles on Christa's only-child status, and then moved on to politely suggesting their unconventional family planning was at issue.

"It's just Tyler, Gillian, and Molly," Nancy announces. "Caroline's staying up at school and Gabe went to his friend's family in Boston."

Derek can tell by her pronunciation of _friend_ – and also her expression – that she means _girlfriend._

"Well, that's great. More food for everyone," Derek says gamely, distributing greetings and hugs to his nephew and nieces.

Nancy is toying fondly with Christa's hair. "Such a pretty color," she says. "Why don't you take your cousins upstairs, sweetheart."

"Um…" Christa looks from Nancy to Derek.

"You know, we have a lot of things for the kids in the family room," Derek interjects. "They can hang out in there."

"Whatever." Nancy shrugs as Christa smiles with relief and darts off with her cousins.

..

"Nancy, thank goodness you're here," Carolyn says, not very quietly, hugging her daughter. "Addie's just insisting I put my feet up but she's going to need help." She lowers her voice. "You remember …"

"Nance!" Addison says loudly, announcing she can hear them perfectly. "Great to see you."

"Actually," Addison adds, once she's exchanged hugs and kisses, "can you take Jack? He's in the cage – I mean, his _play area_ – but he's actually gnawed off a fair amount of the wood, so…"

"I'd love to." Nancy scoops Jack up from the floor. "I miss having little ones sometimes," she confesses, "and his outfit is just so darling, Addie, is it Bonpoint? I'm certain I recognize the color scheme." She sighs, fingering the delicate fabric. "Of course, with five children, you have to cut certain corners … but it's lovely to be able to indulge."

"Thank you," Addison says, figuring it's a response both to her sister-in-law's offer to baby sit and to her rather whiplash-inducing backhanded compliments. It's not that she's not fond of Nancy – because she is – more that you have to be constantly on guard around her. But Addison, whose private secondary school excelled at fencing, can handle it.

With Jack safely in the arms of his aunt (whether Nancy is safe from _him_ remains to be seen), Addison turns back to the numerous pots on the stove. She fell in love with the set the moment she saw it at Sur La Table. Made of hand-forged cast-iron with porcelain enamel in a deep, Christmassy green, they just announce _I Can Totally Handle Thanksgiving Dinner Preparations._

What's in them, of course, is a different story. Leaning her head out of the kitchen and hoping she looks as unruffled as she _doesn't_ feel, she tries to sound casual.

"Derek!"

He meets her in the kitchen entryway. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, honey, everything's great. The food is cooking beautifully, our company arrived just when they should, and there is certainly not an enormous filthy bird hiding in a bathtub _you_ will be cleaning!"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

Addison debates throwing her potholder at his face.

(But it's hand-stitched Scottish lambswool over a silicone base, so there's no need to treat it poorly just because her husband is making her crazy.)

"Derek. I need you to do a lot of things to help. Like keep your mother out of the kitchen –"

"She's staying out!"

"Yes, because I told her to. And you know how she loves taking orders from me. She keeps saying she wants to check the turkey!"

"Okay. Just – calm down," Derek says, apparently not having learned in nearly fourteen years of marriage the dangers of that phrase.

"Calm down? Calm _down?_ Derek, we're at DEFCON 5 here!"

"DEFCON 5 is actually 'normal readiness,'" Derek says. "It's a common misconception. DEFCON 1 is –"

"Please stop talking." Addison rests her hands on her husband's shoulders. "Derek. Honey. I need you to go out there and distract your mother. And you checked on Olivia, right? You made sure Christa didn't just set her up in bed with a tea tray?"

"I … sort of," he admits.

"Sort of?" Addison drops her head into her hands. "This is going to make the salmonella Thanksgiving look like a treasured memory, isn't it?"

..

Having calmed Addison down sufficiently to ensure she's not going to murder his mother, Derek rejoins the family in the living room. Nancy is sipping a glass of wine – like Addison, she seems able to conjure them at will – while she dandles her nephew on her knee. Jack is doing a decent impression of a regular baby, babbling and smiling, and Derek crosses his fingers he can keep it up.

All of a sudden, a squawk descends from upstairs.

Derek's mother and sister swing their heads in unison toward the staircase.

"What on earth is that?"

"What on earth is what?" Derek asks innocently.

 _Olivia … come on … we spared you death, the least you can do is shut up …_

"That – crowing," Nancy says.

"It's more like clucking," Carolyn corrects.

"I think it's really more like crowing."

"Well, I think –"

"Dad!" Christa jogs into the living room. "I need to –"

"Christa, darling, do you hear that noise?" Carolyn asks, frowning. "Your father doesn't seem to hear it."

Olivia emits an especially loud squawk, making Derek wonder if she's actually descending the staircase at the moment.

"Oh … that noise?" Christa smiles at her grandmother. "It's one of Jack's toys," she lies smoothly. "It makes farm noises."

"Oh. They're very … realistic."

Christa nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, Jack loves it, but my dad says he plays them so much he can't even hear them anymore."

"Well, I suppose that explains it," Carolyn says slowly.

"Chris?" Derek signals his daughter. "Why don't you go – see if you can turn off Jack's toy?"

She nods and darts away; he hears her footfalls on the staircase. Noticing Addison standing in the kitchen archway watching their daughter, he excuses himself and joins her.

"Did you hear that?"

"Which part, Olivia's solo or Christa's coverup?"

"Both," Derek says.

"Yes, and yes." Addison pauses. "Did you notice our kid is a very good liar?"

"I did notice that." Derek frowns. "We should discuss it … after Thanksgiving."

"After Thanksgiving," Addison repeats. "Assuming we all live that long."

..

The squawking settles down then, and in the silence, with all four children occupied in the family room and his mother and sister distracted by Jack, Derek escapes to the kitchen to help Addison.

"Eight years later and I'm still in here doing all the work by myself," she grumbles.

"You told me to keep my mother away," he points out.

"Fine." She shoves her hair behind her ears. She's given up on it, apparently, and scraped the whole thing into a pile on her head that reminds him of how she used to wear it to study in med school. Her apron – a gag gift to him at some point in a Secret Santa that he's pretty sure was intended for his brother-in-law – is spattered with a variety of evidence. And her face is flushed from the heat.

"It smells good in here," he says tentatively.

Actually, it's true.

Whatever is happening in the outrageously expensive pots Addison purchased for the occasion is a mystery to him, but the fragrance is actually lovely, warm and autumnal. Thanksgiving-y even.

And if he's not mistaken, the pungent, savory smell wafting from the closed oven is … poultry.

"Can I?" He gestures toward the oven door.

"The internet says you have to add 15 minutes of cooking time every time you open the door." Addison pauses. "Or is it 15 degrees of heat?"

"I'll just turn on the light, then," Derek compromises, and does so.

Inside the oven, in the enormous roaster intended for Olivia, is … something.

Something small.

He has to squint but can't quite make it out.

"Is that … the chicken?"

"Yes," Addison says with dignity, "but when I hacked off the ice I realized it was actually kind of … tiny."

"How tiny?"

"Two pounds," Addison admits. "It, uh, it might be a Cornish hen. Or squab. Or a pigeon from Central Park, I have no idea, Derek, but Liz is going to be here soon, right? She said she was going to look in the basement. She'll find something at her place. And … well … until then, at least it kind of smells like turkey, right?"

Her expression is hopeful – slightly murderous, too, and where was that killing spirit when she was supposed to slaughter Olivia but had cocktails with her instead?

"It's great," he assures her. "Everything is going to be great."

"It smells wonderful in here!"

Addison and Derek jump apart so fast at his mother's voice that he flashes back to their first Christmas together when she walked in on them getting reacquainted in the garage.

"Mom!" Derek says quickly, moving to block her from the kitchen. "Let's give Addison some space."

"Oh, I only want to help, dear," Carolyn says, jiggling Jack in her arms. "Here, you take the baby, and I'll roll my sleeves up and jump in. Addie, you have a meat thermometer, right? A working one?"

"It's okay, really. You watch the baby, that's helpful," Addison tries. "Go relax, Mom."

"I hate relaxing," Carolyn insists airily, and it's hard to deny that. She holds out the baby to Derek. "You take Jack."

"Derek," Addison hisses.

"Derek," Carolyn says, confused, "aren't you going to take the baby? I want to go check on the turkey."

Addison looks stricken.

"All right, I'll just bring the baby with me. I used to cook with a baby on my hip all the time, you know," and she gives Addison a look over her glasses as she says it.

Carolyn takes one step … and then another … and then yelps with surprise and Jack reaches up, grabs his mother's glittering spectacles, and hurls them to the floor.

Where they shatter into an unfixable cobweb.

"Oh, no," Addison says, looking like she can't control her smile. "Jack, that's … bad … Mom, I'm so sorry."

"I'll clean up the mess," Derek offers. He takes his son from his mother's arms. "Mom, go and sit down in the other room and I'll see if I can fix the glasses."

"How can I see my way there?" she demands.

"Okay, I'll help you." He ushers his mother out the door, stopping to throw Addison a look of wonder. She's holding the shattered glasses in her hands looking – well –

Not exactly upset.

..

His mother, though, is upset. She can't see, or at least not well enough to examine Addison's cooking, so she might as well be Helen Keller – that's his impression.

"You don't have a spare pair?" Nancy asks.

"No, but – oh, that's a good idea, I think Liz does. Let me call her, maybe I can catch her before she leaves."

"Wait – " Derek remembers that Liz is supposed to be bringing poultry, but his mother is already dialing her number.

"Great," she announces when she's done. "Liz will look for them."

"…great," Derek echoes faintly.

He's pretty sure, though, that he can hear Addison humming in the kitchen.

At least someone is happy.

He takes a deep breath, trying to enjoy the crackling fire and the surprisingly homey scents wafting from the other room. Thanksgiving in his beautiful home with his beautiful –

A sudden shriek from upstairs cuts into his gratitude.

A decidedly human shriek, and then another.

Addison's head sticks out of the kitchen at the chaos.

"I'll go," Derek says quickly.

Addison gives him a look he decides to interpret as appreciation rather than suppressed irritation.

He ascends the stairs quickly and follows the commotion to Christa's bedroom. Pushing open the door, he finds Christa and her cousin Tyler standing six feet apart, yelling at each other.

He can't quite make out any words, but none of it sounds particularly like a peaceable negotiation.

"Hey. _Hey!"_ he shouts when neither of them seems to notice his presence.

Both of them fall silent.

"What's going on?"

"Christa punched me!" Tyler cries, pulling his hand away from his face.

"Derek? What happened in here? Tyler!" Nancy has suddenly appeared in the doorway, her face a mask of horror like she's just walked in on a crime scene rather than two bickering ten-year-olds. "Oh my _god_ ," she intones dramatically, turning to Derek.

"Christa punched me," Tyler repeats, sobbing, while Nancy holds his face in her manicured hands and studies it, occasionally turning to throw glares in Derek's direction.

For her part, Christa is very quiet, holding a purring Arturo in her arms.

"Chris." Derek turns to her. "Did you punch Tyler?"

She doesn't respond; Derek takes a step toward her and Arturo hisses loudly at him.

"Derek," Nancy snaps, "that _vicious_ animal is frightening my son."

Arturo leaps lightly out of Christa's arms, fastens his yellow eyes on Derek for one long moment of vaguely threatening eye contact, and then disappears under the bed.

Christa, who is rubbing the knuckles of her right hand, raises her eyes to meet Derek's.

"Did you punch Tyler?" he repeats.

"Yes," she says, "but he deserved it."

"I did not!" Tyler yells.

"You did too!" Christa yells back, starting to stalk toward him; Derek grabs hold of her before she can make much headway.

"Christa …" He shakes his head.

"He did deserve it! I punched him because he _kicked_ Arturo!"

Now they all turn to Tyler. "Only 'cause her dumb cat scratched me first!"

He holds up his arm and there's a long pink scratch – Derek, who has seen Arturo single-handedly destroy more than one hand-stitched leather purse that looked like it could withstand a tornado, is well aware that Arturo hardly did his worst.

Not even close.

Still…

Nancy, on the other hand, seems to think Tyler is in danger of immediate shock from blood loss.

"He broke the _skin_ ," she whispers in horror. "Derek – do you see this?"

"I see it."

"Dad," Christa is tugging at his sleeve. "Arturo only scratched him 'cause he was teasing him. He hurt him! He was pulling his tail!"

"Tyler would never do that," Nancy responds primly. "Christa, you must have misunderstood, sweetheart. Derek," she adds, drawing up to her full height, "it's irresponsible to have such an aggressive animal around small children."

"He's not aggressive! Tyler's the aggressive one!" Christa protests, quieting at a look from Derek.

"Why are you playing up here when the cat is so easily provoked?" Nancy demands.

"We weren't playing up here," Christa says. "We were playing in the family room but I had to come up here to check on my … homework."

"On your homework? It's Thanksgiving." Nancy frowns at her brother. "Derek, I really think you put too much academic pressure on this child."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And Tyler followed me up here," Christa says. She throws her father a meaningful look. "So I didn't even get to check on my _homework_ at all."

"I'm sure he just wanted to help you, darling," Nancy assures her niece. "Tyler is academically gifted, you know."

"We know," Derek says mildly. "And I'm sorry about the scratch," Derek says mildly. "The thing is, Arturo needs his space – he's not really a cat that can tolerate being bothered."

"Tyler didn't _bother_ him," Nancy contradicts. "Did you, Tyler?"

"Nope," Tyler tells his mother, his tone tearfully innocent.

"That's not true!" Christa's hands are on her hips. Derek rests his on her shoulders, half to calm her down and half in case she lunges at Tyler again.

"And even if he did … try to play with the cat, that's no reason for the cat to attack him so viciously," Nancy continues in her bossiest older-sister voice. "Derek, you have no excuse not to get that creature declawed."

Derek hears Christa's inhale and moves his hand quickly to cover her mouth before she can launch into her outraged speech on the inhumane practice of declawing cats.

(He doesn't disagree, he just doesn't think it's particularly politic at the moment. Not when Nancy is involved.)

"Okay," he says calmly, "Nance, we'll figure it out. Why don't we go get Tyler cleaned up – here, you can wash off his arm in the bathroom right through there – "

Christa is struggling against him, making muffled sounds of panic, and when he turns her around he sees her eyes are wide with anxiety; she gestures toward the bathroom. Derek takes his hand off her mouth and her lips form two syllables.

 _Turkey._

"Actually," Derek interjects quickly, taking his sister's arm and moving between her and Christa's bathroom door, "let me get you set up in the bathroom down the hall. It's better for … cleaning cat scratches."

"You must clean a lot of them," Nancy responds icily. "And what's wrong with the bathroom right here?"

"Oh, you know how … girls are," Derek says, silently apologizing to Christa, Addison, and Gloria Steinem for the unfortunate but handy excuse. "They like to have their own private spaces for their … things, and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable out there. Come on, Ty."

"Fine," Nancy says, "but Derek, a cat who attacks an innocent child needs to be reported to animal control."

"No!" Christa grabs onto his shirt, panicked.

"Nancy, take it easy," Derek says patiently, resting a hand on Christa's head to calm her down.

"We'll see how deep the wound is," Nancy sniffs, apparently not at all embarrassed to be referring to surface scratch that could have been caused by a strong gust of wind as a _wound._

"Dad…" Christa pleads as he starts to escort Nancy and Tyler away.

"It's okay. Just stay here," he directs her, and leads his sister and nephew out the door.

Once Nancy and Tyler are safely behind the closed hallway bathroom door, he returns to Christa's room. She's sitting on her bed as he instructed, looking glum; he sits down next to her.

"Let me see your hand."

She extends it; he turns her hand over in his and studies her reddened knuckles, manipulating her fingers carefully. He can't help marveling at the size of her hand – the same one that used to fold around one of his fingers when he leaned over her in her bassinet what feels like forever ago.

Relieved at the minimal damage, he returns her hand to her lap.

"Sit here for a minute while I check on your ... homework," he instructs. In the little bathroom off Christa's bedroom he finds Olivia preening her feathers in the claw-footed bathtub lined with soft blankets - including one he recognizes as his mother's hand-crocheting - in easy reach of copious food and water. Olivia gives him a friendly head bob of recognition, the loose skin at her neck wobbling.

"Hi there," he mutters, "just ... keep it down, okay?"

 _I'm talking to a turkey._

"Thank you," he adds, figuring he might as well be polite if he's going to talk to the animals, Dr. Doolittle-style, and then closing the door behind him.

"Is she okay?" Christa asks anxiously, standing up and searching his face.

"She's fine," Derek assures her. He looks down at his daughter. "Listen ... you can't punch people, Chris."

"He _kicked_ Arturo. You're not supposed to kick people either!"

"Arturo's not a – " Derek can't bring himself to finish the sentence when he looks at Christa's face. "The point is, two wrongs don't make a right. You should have come to get me or Mom instead of punching him."

"If I did, then Tyler would've been alone up here with Arturo _and_ …" she gestures wordlessly toward the bathroom, indicating the brownstone's newest animal resident.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "So this is Olivia's fault?"

"No," Christa says immediately, and unsurprisingly. Derek can't imagine circumstances under which his daughter would let an animal take blame. "But Dad, he was bothering Arturo and I told him to stop and Arturo doesn't like it. He only scratched him a _tiny_ bit, and only 'cause Tyler was being so awful."

Derek sighs. He knows Christa shouldn't have punched Tyler, and lord knows Arturo is certainly not a fan of Derek – or Addison – but he's extremely loyal to Christa and Derek has to respect the cat for that.

"Daddy, Aunt Nancy said she was going to report Arturo," Christa reminds him tearfully. "You won't let her, will you? You won't let them take him away?"

"No, of course not," he says, and his daughter throws her arms around his waist. He hugs her back, then holds her away gently to talk to her. "But you need to help me out a little here – help Arturo out," he amends. "You need to apologize to Tyler for punching him."

"I'm not sorry I punched him."

"Yes, you've made that very clear." Derek massages his forehead where a tension headache is gathering. "You need to apologize to him anyway."

"But I won't mean it."

"That's fine."

"But it's a lie."

"Chris … it's a white lie. A harmless little lie like the one I'm going to tell Aunt Nancy about how Arturo is a friendly, non-violent, not-at-all-aggressive cat who doesn't deserve to be reported to animal control. You do your part, I'll do mine. Deal?"

He holds out his hand.

Christa considers this. "Deal," she says slowly, putting her hand in his.

They shake, Derek glancing one more time ruefully at her reddened knuckles.

He's not _proud_ of her for what she did.

But he's not exactly disappointed that his daughter can stand up for herself, either.

..

"Everything checks out," Derek says as patiently as he can, having given Tyler a third visual check for neurological damage.

(At his sister's insistence, and even after he politely explained to her how rarely ten-year-old girls cause concussions.)

"If you're sure," Nancy says suspiciously, stroking her son's hair with one hand while she props the other on her hip.

"I'm pretty sure, Nancy, but feel free to review my credentials."

With Nancy's reluctant seal of approval, he knocks on Christa's door.

Christa looks pretty reluctant herself, but she sidles out of her bedroom and closes the door behind her.

"Chris … did you have something to say to Tyler?" Derek prompts her. He rests both hands on her shoulders, partly in reassurance but firmly enough to remind her of their deal.

"Sorry I punched you, Tyler," Christa mutters to the floor, "even if you deserved it."

"Mom!" Tyler complains, while Nancy shakes her head disapprovingly.

"Christa…" Derek leans down to speak to her quietly. "You are not making it very easy for me to help you out here."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I punched you," she tells her cousin, folding her arms over her chest.

"Thank you for that sincere apology, sweetheart," Nancy says, giving Christa a sugary smile and then glaring at Derek as if to say _it's your parenting to blame here, not the kid._

"Tyler should apologize to Arturo now," Christa announces.

"Okay, you know what?" Derek speaks over the hubbub that ensues. "Nance, why don't you and Tyler go downstairs and … join the others. You don't want to miss Liz's famous cheese turkey."

At the word _turkey_ , he feels Christa freeze, and then he freezes too, worried Olivia might overhear her calling card.

When everything is silent, he gives Nancy his most believable apologetic smile and encourages them to go enjoy the holiday.

"You stick around," he adds, snagging the back of Christa's dress when she starts to follow her aunt and cousin downstairs.

"We had a deal," he reminds his daughter when they're alone.

"I know," she says, looking a little ashamed. "But I did apologize to Tyler!" she reminds him. "You didn't actually _say_ he couldn't apologize to Arturo. And he really should, you didn't see what he was doing." Her face falls. "Don't you believe me?"

Derek sighs. "I believe you, Chris. We'll keep your bedroom door closed so Tyler doesn't have any more … animal access. But you're not solving problems by punching people."

He hears the disconnect in his words and hopes she won't notice, but Christa has never been one not to pick up on hints.

"Am I in trouble?" she asks tremulously.

He has to look away from her sad little face – the problem is, being upset somehow makes her look like a miniature version of her mother. He steels himself.

"Let's see if we can survive Thanksgiving without Olivia giving Grandma another heart attack, and we'll figure it out."

He holds out a hand. "Let's go downstairs."

..

Addison is attempting to figure out how to mash a sweet potato with the device Kathleen produced from her handbag. Of course her sister-in-law showed up mid-chaos, with Derek and Nancy upstairs mediating whatever the kids have gotten into.

Kathleen's daughters sped off to the family room to join the circus and it's just the two of them in the kitchen now, Addison trying to decide what's worse: cooking for her mother-in-law or listening to her sister-in-law's stories about psychiatric theory.

"Am I doing this right?" she asks uncertainly, peering into the bowl.

"Sure," Kathleen says offhand. "Anyway, then my research assistant said…"

Addison turns back to her work. The implement in question looks like a medieval torture instrument … and this is coming from someone who regularly cuts into human flesh. She's frowning at the orange mush in the bowl in front of her – it's rather brown, too, but Kathleen assured her that was okay – when Christa slinks into the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Addison sets down the squisher, or crusher, or whatever it's called.

Christa shrugs. "Hi, Aunt Kathy," she says.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart. Come give me a hug," Kathleen instructs, and when Christa does so she whistles softly. "You're getting so tall, Christa! You know, Addie, girls who get their height early – "

"Chris," Addison interrupts, troubled by the look on her face, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mom. Need any help cooking?" she asks.

"We have it under control," Addison lies. She glances from Kathleen, who has that hungry look she gets when she thinks there may be some counseling to do, back to her daughter. "Why don't you go spend some time with your cousins, honey."

Christa doesn't say anything, just twists a lock of reddish-brown hair around her fingers. Addison is about to tell her not to play with her hair while they're attempting to prepare food when she sees her daughter's knuckles.

"Chris, what happened to your hand?" she asks, wiping her own hands off and approaching her.

"Nothing," Christa says, glancing at Kathleen. Addison folds her arms and fixes her daughter with a stern look.

It's possible that it's not entirely intimidating, since she's currently wearing the type of high ponytail she associates with the late 1980s, scrunchie included, and a bright red apron that says _KISS THE COOK AT YOUR OWN RISK_ , but it seems to work.

"I kind of punched Tyler," Christa admits, "but he kicked Arturo first!"

"He kicked the cat?"

Addison exchanges a glance with Kathleen.

"That's two," Kathleen says quietly. "Remember the fire at –"

"What fire?" Christa asks with interest.

"Don't worry about it," Addison says. "He shouldn't kick Arturo, but you can't punch people, Christa!"

"I know that," she sighs. "Dad said the same thing."

"Okay, then." Addison straightens up. "What else did he say?"

"That he won't know if I'm in trouble until we get through dinner without Olivia – "

Christa freezes and stops talking.

Kathleen picks up on it immediately.

"Who's Olivia?" she asks.

"Olivia is …" Addison glances at her daughter, whose blue eyes are wide. "Olivia is a friend of Christa's," she lies. "From school."

"Oh." Kathleen looks suspicious. "What does she have to do with dinner?"

"Christa … wanted her to join us tonight," Addison invents, glancing at her daughter for buy-in.

"Yeah," Christa says, catching on quickly. "But, um, my mom and dad said I couldn't 'cause I need to play with my cousins, even the awful ones."

"She doesn't mean your kids," Addison tells Kathleen quickly.

Kathleen nods, looking from mother to daughter. "Well. It's very normal at Christa's age and developmental stage to form close bonds of female peer-to-peer friendship. In some of my research, I focused on 19th century Maori culture using methodologies aimed at – "

"Oh no, I think I heard the baby crying," Addison interrupts. "So sorry. Chris, honey, why don't you stay and let Aunt Kathy tell you all about her research?"

Shooting her mother a look that very clearly says _I thought I wasn't in trouble yet,_ Christa gives reluctant assent.

..

"Where's Christa?"

Derek smiles at his nieces. Kathleen's twins are identical, but after reading – and making the entire family read – multiple books on successfully raising independent multiples, telling them apart isn't too hard.

(Claire's shorter hair helps, too.)

"She's in the kitchen helping her mom," he says. He's only stopped in the family room to check and make sure the cousins weren't killing each other. They're actually playing a surprisingly civil game of Scrabble, though the older ones are on their phones as well.

"But Aunt Addie's over there," Audrey says, pointing.

Derek follows her gesture to see Addison is, indeed, _over there_ , on the floor of the family room with Jack either embracing him or attempting to detach his teeth from her shoulder. Either way, they look sweet together.

"Addie." He squats down next to her. "Should I go check on the food, or …?"

She groans. "Fine, I'll go." She stands up and hands Jack to Derek, who follows her out of the family room and back to the kitchen.

Christa is alone in the kitchen, wearing a large gray potholder and studying the contents of one of the green pans on the stove.

"Chris, go play with your cousins and keep an ear out for Olivia," Derek instructs, relieving her of the potholder.

"You don't have to stay in here, Addie," Derek assures her once they're alone. "I can. I just didn't want to set off the smoke detectors."

"I think I'd prefer an actual fire at this rate," she snaps, then shakes her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Derek. I'm trying, I really am. But your mom is driving me crazy."

"She's not doing anything," he protests. "She can't even see since Jack blinded her."

"He didn't _blind_ her," Addison says with dignity, "although I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it since your mother has never met a grudge she doesn't like keeping, especially where I'm involved."

"Okay, look. Everything is going fine. No, really." He deposits Jack in his play area and then sets his hands on his wife's shoulders, hoping his face looks convincing. Sometimes Addison knows him too well.

"Addie. We've made it so far. No uninvited poultry guests, no food poisoning, only minor physical violence, and surprisingly few bite marks. This is a victory. Let's enjoy it."

"Liz isn't here yet, though. She's supposed to bring an emergency bird - a dead one, just to be clear - and she's not going to be here for hours now that Mom has her looking for spare eyeglasses!"

Derek sighs. "Maybe she'll get here faster than you think. You know William is a speeder."

Reluctantly, Addison nods.

"So we just need to get through a little longer."

She smiles slightly up at him. In her flat slippers, she almost looks small. Or maybe it's the effect of the oversized apron. "You really think it will work out?"

"I really do."

"Turkey," Jack shrieks without warning, frustrated, rattling the side of his play area. Derek scoops him up, wishing he could focus on a different word.

"Addie, dear?" His mother calls out then. "Why don't you bring me out of a spoonful of whatever smells so … fragrant … so I can tell you if it's fully cooked?"

Addison just opens and closes her mouth a few times.

Mercifully, the doorbell rings before she can speak.

"Oh, thank god. I'll get it," Addison says. "But if it's Jehova's Witnesses, I'm asking them to take me with them," she adds in a low voice, for Derek's benefit only. "Or maybe I'll luck out and it will be a serial killer."

"Very funny," Derek mutters, shifting a protesting Jack, who is yanking on his father's hair in frustration, apparently, that he can't find anything to bite.

Addison takes merciful steps away from the loud living room into the foyer.

Ah … peace.

And quiet.

Until the doorbell rings again.

 _Fine._ She'd jump for joy if it could be Liz, but even William can't drive that fast. Can he? Maybe it's later than she thought.

But when she pulls open the door, it's not Liz at all.

Nor is it Jehova's Witnesses.

Or even a serial killer.

(But she's fairly certain that a serial killer might have been more welcome.)

"Addison, you look surprised. Don't tell me you've forgotten it's Thanksgiving." Bizzy removes her sunglasses in time to raise a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to invite me in?"

* * *

 ** _To be continued. I have to admit, Addek with an older kid is one of my favorite setups. I didn't know how much I liked it until I started writing it, so expect more! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you will review and let me know what you think. Reviews keep the #addekrevolution going! xoxo_**


	3. Bizzy

**A/N: Remember this story?** Derek, Addison, their animal-loving daughter who once helped her mother deliver a calf on a family vacation, and her new sharp-toothed baby brother? I hope so, because the timing couldn't be more perfect, because I was mid-update when **LS** , whose idea inspired this story to begin with, requested some Addek fluff. And we need fluff sometimes in our steady angst diet. So here's some Thanksgiving themed, chaotic family fluff, Addek style. I hope you enjoy!

 **And if you don't remember, here's a quick _previously on:_** Remember that it's Thanksgiving, but somehow the fresh turkey Derek planned to buy so they could roast has ended up another cosseted pet in Christa's bathtub, hidden from nosy Shepherds? And then remember that Carolyn showed up early, throwing everyone for a loop? And then, at the end of chapter 2, someone else showed up even _more_ unexpectedly?

* * *

 _ **Gobble, Gobble**_ **  
** **Chapter 3: Bizzy**

* * *

"Am I going to - am I going to invite you in?" Addison finds herself repeating her mother's words blankly. "Bizzy – what are you _doing_ here?"

And then she just stares as her mother steps over the threshold for all the world like she belongs in their home, resplendent in mink, sunglasses in one hand, the gold-linked strap of her clutch in the other.

"It's Thanksgiving, Addison," Bizzy repeats.

"Yes, I know it's Thanksgiving." Addison glances at Derek for support. "Um, I didn't know you were coming. Weren't you – didn't you have other – "

Her voice trails off.

"There was an avalanche in Gstaad," Bizzy says simply. "I assumed you'd heard."

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains it." Addison sighs a little.

In her experience, European weather fluctuations, particularly those involving skis, tend to be WASP for something to do with the Captain. Addison's not quite as fluent as she used to be when she lived at home, but … she can still get along.

What is actually _means_ though … she's not sure.

Meanwhile, Bizzy is still standing in the foyer in her mink, looking perfectly put together and rather disapproving. "I assume from the cacophony that your husband's family is here?"

Addison glances automatically toward the living room, where she can just catch out of the corner of her eye Kathleen's giant cheese ball, adorned with red peppers to make a turkey crown. Oh, Bizzy's going to _love_ that.

"Some of them," Addison says.

Bizzy just arches one eyebrow, managing to communicate without speaking just what she thinks of people who have as many noisy children as the extended Shepherd family.

… not for the first time.

Addison elbows Derek, who has been standing silently at her side; he jumps gamely into the fray.

"Bizzy!" Derek smiles at her in a way that would almost look convincing if Addison hadn't known him so well for so long, and kisses his mother-in-law's cheek. "You're looking well. How's the Captain?" he asks, while Addison makes frantic throat-slashing gestures behind her mother and then swiftly moves her hand up to fix her hair when Bizzy turns around.

Okay, so Derek is good – very, very good – but he doesn't speak WASP. Not like she does.

Luckily, Addison's flailing gesture seems to have distracted her mother from whatever her father has done this time.

"Addison. Is something wrong with you?" Bizzy asks disapprovingly.

 _Oh, so much is wrong, you have no idea._

"No … Mother, everything is fine. We're so, uh, we're happy you're here," she says, attempting to infuse the words with something other than surprised dismay.

Bizzy _is_ here, right?

It's not another bad dream, perhaps brought on by too much smoke in the kitchen?

"Hi, Bizzy! I didn't know you were coming."

Christa's cheerful greeting as she joins them in the foyer makes clear she's not, unfortunately, imagining it.

Bizzy is actually smiling in response – smiling for Bizzy, anyway: "Christa, look at you, dear, you've grown. Outgrown that dress too, it seems," she adds quietly for Addison's sake.

Addison glares at her mother.

"And your hair is so long now." Bizzy tells Christa, then turns to Addison with a lifted brow.

Christa, for her part, is patient with her grandmother's once-over.

But it's not done yet. Addison follows her mother's gaze to Christa's shearling boots – or rather, shearling-esque boots, since of course they're vegan.

"And those boots are very … après ski," Bizzy offers.

"Thanks," Christa says with a smile, looking down at her boots. "They're really comfortable."

"Yes, just what I look for in a shoe," Bizzy says, her gaze sliding to Addison. "And you, dear? Were you planning a sail?"

Addison realizes she's still wearing Derek's topsiders, which she threw on earlier when her mother-in-law made the first unexpected arrival of the afternoon. "They're supportive," she says now, with dignity, "for cooking."

"Mm." Bizzy's tone is noncommittal, yet somehow extremely judgmental.

 _God_ , she's good at that.

"A drink," Bizzy proposes now, still wearing her coat. "Christa, would you mind, dear?"

"Christa's not going to make you a drink," Addison says irritably. "She's ten."

"It's not exactly difficult, Addison. You were mixing far more complicated drinks at her age."

"Yes … and I turned out _so_ well," Addison mutters.

"What was that, dear? You know mumbling is unseemly. I hope _you_ don't mumble," Bizzy adds, turning to Christa with a rather severe look.

Christa glances from Derek to Addison. "I … mumble sometimes," she says finally, tactfully, managing to defend her mother without making her grandmother any more irritated – really, quite skillful.

Derek is impressed.

Addison, on the other hand, looks annoyed – at her mother, not at Christa, and Derek is wondering if he should intervene when she starting talking.

"Bizzy, would you _just_ – " But another voice interrupts before she can finish.

"Bizzy! Oh gosh, it's been a while. _Great_ to see you. You remember me, right? Nancy? You told me at the wedding that not everyone can pull off a pixie cut?" Nancy flashes Addison a wide, reassuring smile … and a small wink too. She's holding something in her hand – a G&T. Silently, Addison sends gratitude to Derek's sister and reminds herself to reserve a hot stone massage for Nancy, too, if they all survive this Thanksgiving.

"Nancy. Of course," Bizzy says, sounding mollified, likely from her first glimpse of the drink.

"Addison … I'm still wearing my coat," she adds pointedly.

Addison glares at Derek.

Derek hastens to help his mother-in-law out of her mink coat, and is hanging it in the closet when he catches Christa staring in horror.

"It's fake," Derek mutters to his daughter, lying through his teeth. It could be worse; he's seen Bizzy wear what Addison told him was a vintage fox-fur stole, each unfortunate fox – whose head and paws were part of the stole – caught by Addison Bradford himself. He shudders a little at the memory, hoping Christa never catches a glimpse.

"Bizzy, why don't you come sit down?" Nancy says pleasantly, Addison shooting her another grateful look.

They're not five steps away when Addison grabs her husband's arm. "Derek. Derek, _what_ is she doing here?"

"I have no idea." Derek shakes his head. As if today isn't complicated enough.

Addison is still just staring as Bizzy swans into the living room, stepping delicately over several toys in her path.

"Hey." He touches his wife's face. "Are you holding up okay?"

"I don't know." Addison steps into his proffered embrace. "That helped," she admits.

"Good. It's available anytime." He rests his hands on her shoulders when she steps back. "Look, Addie, it's going to be fine. Maybe it's … good. Your mother and my mother can distract each other and then maybe no one will notice the – " He cuts himself off. " _T-word_ ," he murmurs.

"You think?"

"Yeah. I do." He wraps an arm around his wife, leading her back toward the living room. "Let's just – keep an open mind, think positive … that kind of thing … ." His voice trails off at the expression on Addison's face.

Yeah, it's time to switch strategies.

Leaning in, he steals a quick kiss, which – yes, she looks a little happier now.

" _There_ you are, Addison," Bizzy says as soon as they enter the living room – the smile drops off his wife's face in response – "Carolyn was just asking me if I was the one who taught you to cook."

Bizzy's expression makes clear how ridiculous this question is.

Addison looks like she's not sure whether to glare at her mother or her mother-in-law. She settles for sending Derek a _you handle this_ look.

"Mom," Derek says brightly, "I guess you saw that Bizzy's here – isn't it nice that she was able to join us?"

"Nice," Carolyn repeats. "Yes … nice. I had no idea she was coming, Derek. You didn't tell me."

"Maybe he told you, dear, but you just couldn't hear it over the din," Bizzy suggests, lifting an eyebrow at Carolyn.

Derek presses his lips together to stifle a smile; his mother looks offended, and he doesn't want to start anything.

The fact is, it _is_ pretty loud. It's just he doesn't really notice the … _din_ … after all these years in a big family.

It's not anything terrible: voices, chatter, footsteps pounding, Jack's occasional shrieks, and –

"Is that the smoke alarm?"

..

"Busy," Addison says breathlessly once they've gotten the kitchen under control, windows thrown open to the crisp air from the garden, melted spatula disposed of.

"Bizzy?" Derek repeats. He's washing soot off his hands in the sink.

"Yes. No." Addison pauses, shaking her head a little as if to clear it when he turns around. "I mean, yes. We need to keep Bizzy, _busy._ We need to keep my mother busy. A not-busy Bizzy is the most dangerous of all." Addison paces, wringing her hands. "Not to mention _your_ mother. Honey, help me come up with something."

Derek thinks. "Maybe Jack can help," he says. "Does your mother wear reading glasses?"

"I don't know." Addison tilts her head, considering it. "That's a pretty personal question, for Bizzy."

A personal question? Glasses?

"Well, maybe Jack can break something else of hers," Derek says. "That would be distracting. Or we can grab her handbag to check for glasses, or – Addie, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because – you can't just _check_ Bizzy's handbag, and Jack definitely can't break it!"

"Why not?"

" _Derek_ ," Addison hisses. "That 'handbag' is a limited edition, vintage Jean Cloche clutch. The gold on the strap is from some – 19th century pistol. Jean only made seven of them in 1961 and there are only two left in the world, _including_ the one that's currently in our living room."

Derek blinks, taking it all in. "So that you know, but reading glasses are too personal?"

"Derek!"

"Fine, fine." He tries to come up with a Plan B. "I guess we could – "

"Wait." She puts up a hand. "Derek – it's _quiet_ out there," she says, sounding panicky, gesturing to the living room.

"That's not good?" he asks weakly.

Addison doesn't respond, just tears off her apron and stalks out of the kitchen with passionate purpose, Derek on her heels.

The truth is, she's wearing flat shoes, but somehow his wife is able to stalk the same way in four-inch heels, cozy bedroom slippers, or … his topsiders, which she's still wearing even though they're a little big on her, most likely to annoy her mother.

He admires her commitment.

"Mom!" Addison smiles warmly at Carolyn, who is sitting in the comfortable easy chair where they parked her when Jack mercifully broke her glasses. Bizzy, meanwhile, is perched on the couch with her legs tightly crossed, quite a bit of her drink gone already.

"Yes, dear?" Carolyn asks eagerly. "Did you manage the smoke? Do we need to evacuate?"

"Yes," Addison says tightly, "and no, we don't need to evacuate."

"Are you sure you don't want some help in the kitchen?" Carolyn persists. "I know I can't see as well as I usually can, but … ."

Her voice trails off, but the implication is clear to her daughter-in-law: _even blind as a bat, I'm still better in the kitchen than you._

"No, thank you." Addison throws a significant look at Derek, who shrugs a little, apparently having missed his mother's oh-so-subtle undertone. "Actually, Mom, Bizzy was just asking me the other day for your – " Addison pauses, as if gathering strength, " – your casserole recipe," she says confidently.

The room is silent for a moment.

Addison takes a moment to absorb – and, fine, enjoy – Bizzy's reaction. Her mother's face would look impassively polite to an outsider, but Addison doesn't miss the very subtle but very Bizzy shudder at the word _casserole._

"My casserole recipe. Of course, dear, I can do that," Carolyn says, a little hesitantly. "But which casserole?"

"Oh, how about the one with the … crumbled potato chips," Addison says, starting to enjoy this even more when Bizzy can't to seem from pressing one manicured hand, with its Bradford-crest ring, to the part of her perfectly-structured tweed jacket where her heart would be.

"Which _one_ with the crumbled potato chips," Carolyn is asking patiently, while Bizzy's face remains in an impassive, if gin soaked, mask.

Derek looks from his wife, to his mother, to his mother-in-law.

"It looks like you have this under control, Addie," he mutters to Addison, resting a supportive hand on her shoulder. "So I think I'll just – "

"Don't you dare," she hisses in response. "If anyone's going, _I'm_ going."

"Addison – mumbling again?" Bizzy asks, eyebrow raised, apparently recovered from her initial casserole-induced condition.

"Sorry." Addison speaks up as she gestures to the space on the couch next to Carolyn. "Why don't you come sit closer, Bizzy, so you don't miss a word that recipe." She waits for her mother to sweep to her feet and sit down again, with a subtle reluctance Addison doesn't miss.

"Oh, and Mom." Addison smiles at her mother-in-law, "make sure you don't leave anything out. Bizzy loves details."

Bizzy seems torn between her perfect manners and the implications of _don't leave anything out_ , especially where potato chips are concerned, but in the end her breeding wins out as Addison knew it would, and as she grabs Derek's hand and heads for the kitchen, she hears Carolyn starting her story:

" … now, some people might think cream of mushroom is better than cream of celery, but the thing is, if you want to make sure you can really keep a growing family full … "

..

"That was close."

Addison leans breathlessly against the wall. "Can we get a door for the kitchen?"

"You want to renovate again?"

"No." Addison makes a face, then brightens, reaching for her apron and hooking it back over her neck. She turns around so Derek can tie it around her waist, offering a new solution over her shoulder: "How about we just use the front door, but we kick everyone out?"

Derek fights a smile, resting both his hands on his wife's shoulders. "Kick our guests out? When we're such welcoming Thanksgiving hosts?"

She shakes her head, turning around. "This is your fault."

" _Our_ fault," he corrects her, moving his hands down to her hips.

"How do you figure that?" she asks, reaching out to straighten his collar.

"Because you're the one who volunteered for Thanksgiving duties," he reminds her, " _but_ you and I are married. So it's _our_ fault."

"Oh." She considers this. "I like that."

"I thought you might." He starts to pull her closer, looking rather pleased with himself, and she starts automatically to go to him when –

"Wait a minute. _You_ ," and she pokes him lightly in the chest for emphasis, "were the one who started this whole – turkey disaster."

She whispers the word _turkey_ out of habit, even though neither Jack nor any other Shepherd is within earshot.

Derek frowns. "You're the one who didn't kill Olivia when you had the chance."

"When I had the – " She throws her hands in the air. "You're the one who insisted on the heritage turkey! We could have bought a nice, _dead_ bird from Eli's and we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I thought Chris would be happier with a heritage turkey, from a farm she picked," Derek says, a little defensively, "one who had a chance to roam around, and enjoy country life …."

"Well, you were right." Addison arches an eyebrow. "Your daughter is definitely happy with the heritage turkey that's currently roaming around and enjoying _city_ life, and not smelling very good, and did you even research how long turkeys live? No? I hope _you_ enjoy taking that turkey to work with you once your daughter goes to college!"

Derek lets her wind down on her own, waiting patiently, then frowns. "Wait … _my_ daughter?" he asks finally. "She's my daughter when she doesn't want to see a man in overalls wring a turkey's neck in front of her?"

"Yes," Addison says, glaring.

"Fine." Derek frowns. "I'll just go tell _your_ daughter that you're the one who nixed spending five thousand dollars on a turkey pen for her new pet."

"Well, _I'll_ – " Addison pauses. "Five thousand dollars?"

"Your daughter," Derek says meaningfully. "I told you."

Addison sighs. "Fine, I guess it's too late to kill her now. _Olivia_ ," she says hastily at Derek's expression. "Derek! Did you really think – "

But he's laughing, and this time she lets him pull her into his arms, pretending it's a concession.

And enjoys the embrace for about three seconds before she hears two things: Carolyn calling for her, and Jack yelling.

One quick marital exchange of glances and they split up.

..

Derek sees quickly that yes, Jack is currently yelling but it's just that: yelling cheerfully, not crying. Presumably because Kathleen's sons – two energetic little blonds – are chasing him through the hall on his wheeled walking toy.

"Hi, Uncle Derek!" Noah, the smaller of the two, bellows as he passes, and Derek is reminded, as he rubs ruefully at his ear, that children are just … loud. And that's fine, despite Bizzy's political opposition to both sound and children.

Little boys make noise. And that's fine.

And … teenaged girls do, too, because two of his nieces are perched on the couch, exclaiming loudly over something on their phones.

And fine, adult girls _too_ , because next to the fireplace, Nancy is engaged in a passionate discussion with Kathleen that he can't quite make out, although he picks up the words _oppositional_ and _research_.

And also Tyler and Christa are bickering volubly by the staircase.

Wait.

Two bickering cousins, and a staircase that leads to Olivia – noise is one thing, potential danger is another thing entirely.

..

"Mom? Did you need something?" Addison asks, trying to sound – welcoming, and also trying not to notice her own mother's gaze sliding down the apron Addison is wearing once again.

 _KISS THE COOK AT YOUR OWN RISK_

There was a time Addison would have thought it was tacky, but right now, Bizzy's discomfort is so worth it that she's considering getting a matching tattoo on her –

"Addie, dear, I just wanted to see how everything was going in the kitchen." She raises her eyebrows.

"It's going fine."

"Oh, good. It smells so … festive in here," Carolyn says, looking meaningfully at Addison, then back to Bizzy. "I'm just sorry I can't be in the kitchen helping. Even if it _is_ all going … fine."

Addison smiles as sincerely as she can, storing up her complaints for Derek later.

"Still … it's a lot to do for just one person," her mother-in-law persists.

"Derek is helping," Addison says, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the children and the loud wheels of Jack's running toy. "We have it under control, Mom."

"Maybe your mother can help you, Addie," Carolyn suggests, apparently deciding to ignore Addison's reply. "Bizzy, have you cooked a turkey before?"

"Have I cooked a – oh, you're actually _serious_." Bizzy gives Addison an amused glance before turning back to Carolyn. "No, I'm afraid I haven't. But I'm sure Addison can handle it."

Before Bizzy can make clear that her compliment was backhanded, Addison excuses herself to go check on dinner – but not before she hears the tail end of the two older women's conversation:

"Did Addie ever enjoy cooking? When she was little, perhaps?" Carolyn's voice.

"Oh, I wouldn't know, dear," Bizzy replies. "You'd have to ask her nannies."

Making a note to remember that conversation the next time she doubts her own mothering skills, Addison escapes to the kitchen.

… only to find Kathleen standing at the stove.

..

Derek, meanwhile, finds Tyler and Christa at the bottom of the staircase in a visibly antagonistic posture – Christa's braced a step above with one arm extended to the banister like a goalie, Tyler a step below looking like he's trying to figure out how to get through.

"I already said I didn't!" Christa shouts at her cousin as Derek approaches.

She turns to him with relief as he frowns, gesturing for her to lower her voice.

"Dad – Tyler is trying to go upstairs," she says urgently.

"What's the big deal?" Tyler asks, spreading his hands – the picture of innocence.

"But I told him he can't," Christa says. "He's not listening to me."

Ah.

"Ty … why don't you guys stay down here," Derek says to his nephew, gesturing expansively to make the lower level of the brownstone more appealing. "There are games in the den. It's much more fun downstairs."

"Christa yelled at me," Tyler says.

When Derek doesn't say anything, Tyler pushes his bottom lip out just enough for Derek to realize he's supposed to be sympathizing.

"That … doesn't sound nice," Derek says without much emotion.

"I'm a _guest_ ," Tyler says. "You're not s'posed to yell at guests."

"You're not a guest, you're family," Derek tells him firmly.

"Well, you're not supposed to yell at family either," Tyler counters.

Oh, he's fairly certain both Tyler's mother and grandmother would disagree.

"Chris." Derek gets her attention, nodding toward her cousin.

"Um … sorry, Tyler," Christa says with equivalent stoicism, tightening her grip on the banister.

"There you go," Derek says. "Now let's go find something to do that's not on the stairs. Come on, both of you."

Tyler doesn't move. "But I want to use Christa's iPad," he says, pouting. "I need to see something."

"Christa doesn't have an iPad."

"That's what I told him," Christa says patiently, "and he didn't believe me."

"Everyone has an iPad," Tyler corrects, frowning.

"Not me." Christa gives Derek a meaningful look.

Okay, that's an argument for another day.

"Chris – "

"Don't you at least have an i _Pod_?" Tyler challenges, interrupting him.

Christa looks nervously at Derek. That, she does have. It's hard to miss. It's bright orange with black tiger stripes, it benefited the National Wildlife Fund, and it's currently … in Christa's room.

"Tyler, your mom doesn't want you upstairs because of the cat," Derek says firmly. "And we don't want you to – get hurt again. Both of you, let's go find something to do downstairs, please. We're going to eat soon."

"Oh, is the turkey ready?" Tyler brightens. "I'm starving."

Derek's mouth opens; no sound comes out – except a loud hiss.

A hiss?

All three of them turn to see Arturo perched halfway down the staircase, tail erect, yellow eyes fixed on Tyler. His posture makes the feuding cousins look like tiny kittens.

"That cat is possessed!" Tyler yelps.

"Arturo's not possessed," Christa scoffs, "he just doesn't like you."

"Chris, enough." Derek massages his temples. Time for take two. "Okay. You take Arturo upstairs," he instructs his daughter, which in the Shepherd house translates to something more like _you go upstairs in the hopes that your loyal cat will follow, since no one can make him do anything and it would be utter folly to suggest otherwise._

Christa looks like she wants to protest, but she heads up the stairs anyway. Before she reaches the cat, he leaps lightly up the rest of the stairs of his own accord, and then feline and mistress turn the corner together and disappear.

Derek turns back to his nephew, who's scowling.

"And you … come with me." He extends a hand.

"That cat is mean," Tyler complains, lingering around the staircase..

"He's not very friendly," Derek admits, "so it's best to leave him alone. And if you don't want to go to the playroom," he adds, talking over his nephew's protest, "why don't you and Christa go play outside," he suggests, remembering that the two of them tend to get along best in the outdoors. "Throw a ball or … run some laps."

"'Cause Christa's upstairs," Tyler says slowly as if Derek is hard of hearing, then pauses. "But I can go get her," he suggests eagerly.

"No." Derek frowns. Tyler, it seems, has cottoned on to how little Derek wants him upstairs, and is apparently going to seize any excuse to get up there. "We can just wait down here."

A few uncomfortable minutes tick by with Derek basically stretched across the staircase and Tyler looking annoyed … and no Christa.

" _Now_ can I go get her?"

"No," Derek snaps. "I mean – I'll go get her, Ty. You – just go get your coat," he suggests more gently. "Oh, and tell your mother you're going to play outside. So she doesn't worry."

He checks twice to make sure Tyler isn't following, waiting until he hears Nancy's recognizable voice talking to her son, before he heads up the stairs to Christa's room.

..

Addison's heart speeds up to see her sister-in-law standing over the stove with interest.

"Kathy? Everything looking … okay?"

She sends a quick prayer – okay, she doesn't know how to pray, because she only goes to church on Christmas, so it's more like a quick _Jingle Bells_ – that Kathleen hasn't opened the oven.

"Everything looks great," Kathleen says heartily. "On top of the stove, anyway. I didn't want to disturb the turkey."

 _Thank you, god of poultry. Jingle all the way._

"Oh, good." Addison inches closer to the oven.

"Did you want to check it, Addie?"

 _No._

"Um, it's not due for a … check yet," Addison says with as much authority as she can manage. "If I rush it, I have to … lower the temperature."

 _Damn it, that's not right._

She tries to remember the rule.

"Addie," Kathleen says, "have you given any more thought to having Olivia for dinner?"

"What?" Addison stands up so quickly she knocks a bowl off the counter. Once that's cleaned up, she shoves her hair out of her eyes and turns back to her sister-in-law. "What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I can tell how much Christa wants her friend to join us for dinner," Kathleen says patiently, in her _understanding_ voice. "And it's natural for her to want female friends close by. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind about Olivia?"

"I'm sure," Addison says quickly. It's been so hectic since Bizzy's arrival she's almost forgotten the lie she and Christa told Kathleen that Olivia was Christa's friend who wasn't permitted to join them for dinner.

It seemed like a good idea at the time?

"Addie, you know I think you're a _great_ mom," Kathleen begins, and Addison tries not to roll her eyes.

"It's Derek," she tells her sister-in-law, throwing a quick telepathic apology to her husband. "Derek's the one who really doesn't want Olivia around."

"Oh." Kathleen looks curious. "Maybe I can talk to him."

"No!" Addison whirls around. "He, uh, he's made up his mind. What can I do? You know Derek." She gives Kathleen a bright smile. "Did you, um, did you want anything else, Kath?"

" _Well_ , I didn't know your mother was coming, Addie," Kathleen says earnestly, switching tactics, apparently.

"Yeah, neither did I."

Kathleen's eyes widen; now they have that … _shrinky_ glow. "Holidays can bring up all sorts of long-buried familial memories," she says, "for everyone involved. It's possible your mother didn't even know she was coming over until something triggered it. A food, a song, a book, a taste, a word … even a smell – "

"Kath?"

Her sister-in-law looks somewhat disappointed to be interrupted. "Yes?"

"Do you think you could check on Liz and see when she thinks she'll get here?"

Mercifully, Kathleen agrees. And then Addison turns on the oven light, alone in the kitchen.

And there it is.

A sad, small little bird in the center of the giant roaster intended for Olivia who, according to Derek, is still living large in their daughter's bathtub.

And yes, that's partially her fault for not slaughtering Olivia when she could have, but is it her fault Olivia is a better listener than most people, including _Dr._ Kathleen Shepherd, renowned psychiatrist to the self-loathing denizens of upper Manhattan, not above the park, thank-you-very-much, and the wealthier parts of Brooklyn?

But forget listening.

Forget Olivia, forget turkey.

There's a more pressing question facing her right now: just how high is cranberry sauce supposed to bubble, anyway?

..

"Hey." Derek knocks on his daughter's partially-open door, then heads in when he doesn't hear anything.

"Dad?" Christa leans her head out of her en-suite bathroom. And then a much less adorable head leans out below hers, jutting its wobbly neck.

"So Olivia's okay, then."

"Yeah, she's okay … but I think she's lonely." Christa strokes the turkey's pointy little head.

Well. Better lonely than dead.

"Dad … Tyler knows something's going on."

"I know." He sighs a little. Before he can strategize, Christa is back to the turkey.

"You know, turkeys usually have a flock," Christa says. "They're not used to being alone."

Derek doesn't really like the sound of this.

"Chris – "

"They're not aggressive, either," she says hastily, "except for during mating season."

 _Like your uncle Mark, then._

"And I think Olivia would do better if she had a companion."

"A companion," he echoes weakly.

Christa nods. "It can be a girl, if you're worried about mating."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Derek says automatically.

Christa looks at him curiously.

"Never mind," he says.

"So … we can go back to the farm?" Christa persists. "Like, this weekend? And find a jenny?"

"Who's Jenny?"

"A jenny is a young female turkey, Dad," Christa says patiently, in the same you'll-figure-it-out-one-day tone he used to use when she would put her shoes on the wrong feet.

"Chris." Derek shakes his head. "We have enough problems with just one turkey right now. Don't you think?"

She doesn't think, apparently.

She just strokes the turkey's head again with more than a little defiance, muttering something about flocks.

Derek massages his temples.

Stubborn. His daughter is very stubborn.

She gets that from her mother, of course, which means her mother should really be up here dealing with her, and her mother also should have slaughtered the turkey when she had the chance.

… why can't they cover this in one of the tween parenting books Addison is so fond of?

"Dad, it's Thanksgiving," Christa says. "It's a _family_ holiday. We took Olivia away from her family."

"Away from her – " Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Chris. You do realize that if we'd left Olivia there, the farmer would have – "

He stops.

Christa's blue eyes are wide and anxious.

He sighs, not wanting to upset his tender-hearted, animal-loving daughter.

Except … wait a minute.

Are her eyes just a little _too_ wide … and a little _too_ anxious?

..

Once Kathleen has returned from calling Liz, she doesn't update Addison right away – first she needs to help her get control of the cranberry sauce, which requires several sponges, a dishtowel, and a bottle of Evian Addison had planned to drink.

Then Kathleen is fussing with the other burners, moving things to the sink, turning on the overhead fans, cursing a little under her breath … looking for fresh cranberries, starting a monologue on the plight of cranberry farmers in Cape Cod …

"Kathy. _Kath._ Did you get an ETA from Liz?" Addison interrupts finally.

"Liz is in a lot of traffic," Kathleen says, as Addison's heart sinks, "but she did tell me to tell you that she has the _thing_ you asked for."

And then her heart soars.

Soars!

Addison was half-joking earlier when she suggested Liz might have a spare turkey in her cavernous basement freezer, but apparently she was right. Liz is bringing a turkey. Liz is going to save the day. This is worth another prayer, a _Silent Night_ or even a _Hark, the Herald Angels Sing_.

" … which is very cryptic," Kathleen adds pointedly, while Addison sends some more Christmassy telepathic thanks to her eldest sister-in-law for her loyalty. "What's she bringing, anyway?" Kath asks.

"Uh … lipstick," Addison lies without much thought.

"Lipstick? But your coloring is so different," Kathleen frowns.

"It's a – universal shade. Limited addition." Addison checks the time. "How much traffic did you say Liz was in?"

..

In Christa's bathroom, overlooking the darkened garden below … it's a stalemate.

Derek raises his eyebrows.

Christa raises hers.

Neither of them speaks.

Then Olivia joins in the action by jutting her neck back and forth.

Now it's more like a game of chicken … with a turkey thrown in for good measure.

"You knew the farmer was about to wring her neck," Derek says finally, slowly, piecing it together.

"Of course I knew that, Dad. I'm almost eleven," she reminds him. "I went to the Gobblers United protest in Central Park last week. That's how I found out about the farm."

He's starting to feel a little silly. Christa may adore animals, may be innocent at times and naturally sweet, but she's ten years old – eleven next month – so of course she knew Olivia's original fate.

"Honey – "

He stops talking. What did she just say? How she found out about the – _farm_?

"You tricked me. You picked a farm where you knew – "

"I didn't _trick_ you," Christa says indignantly. "You wanted a turkey. I found a turkey."

"I wanted a turkey we could eat for Thanksgiving, not host as an exchange animal!"

Christa just regards him stubbornly.

Derek studies his daughter's cute freckled face. She's really known all along.

Gathering all the information he has, he makes sure.

"Chris. You knew you were saving Olivia," he prompts.

Christa nods.

"And that the farmer was supposed to – kill her for us," Derek says, wincing a little at the word _kill_ along with his daughter.

Christa nods again.

Derek sighs inwardly. All warnings about the tween years aside, he wasn't quite prepared for this.

"And you knew that Mom was going to kill Olivia when you and I went to Gristedes," he says.

Christa's eyes widen. "Mom was going to _what_?" she asks, alarmed.

… okay, so she doesn't know everything.

A little relieved, Derek works on covering his tracks.

"Nothing," he says hastily. "It was just a – test."

Christa's gaze slides toward the bathtub where Olivia is still sitting pretty in her new home.

His daughter may be a skilled fibber – a little more so than he'd prefer – but he has no doubt her concern for the turkey is real.

"I wanted to save her," Christa says. "Turkeys shouldn't be food. They're really smart."

Derek decides now is not the time to debate – he was willing to buy this argument about pigs, after Christa showed him a number of articles and a few videos that convinced him piglets are at least as clever as interns. Even Addison agreed, forgoing prosciutto unless Christa was with friends or her cousins. Pigs are smart. He knows this.

But Olivia, who was pecking the shower curtain with interest last time he looked … smart?

"Okay, listen. We'll deal with all of this later. Right now, we just need to keep Olivia quiet so that Mom can get Thanksgiving dinner on the table and Grandma and Bizzy can both – "

Ooh, he'd love to finish that sentence honestly, but this isn't the right audience.

" – enjoy dinner," he finishes finally, a little reluctantly. "The point is … I need you to take Tyler outside and keep him occupied," he tells Christa. "He's too interested in what's going on up here."

"I don't want to go outside with Tyler. He's too annoying."

"Chris."

"He kicked Arturo! What kind of person kicks a cat, Dad?"

"Honey. Do you want to save Olivia or not?"

"Of course I want to save her!" Christa pauses. "Can't we just send Tyler home?"

"No," he says. "It's a _family holiday_ ," he adds, quoting her words from earlier, "and sometimes family means you do things you don't want to do, like go toss a ball around with your cousin to keep a turkey from being slaughtered."

His daughter's face is still set stubbornly.

Derek pauses. "Chris. When was that Gobblers United protest you said you went to?"

Her cheeks turn pink. "Um. Last week," she says quietly.

"Last week, like … during school, last week?"

Christa doesn't answer, suddenly very interested in the pattern on her dress.

"Chris?" he prompts.

She looks up. "I think I'll go play with Tyler to keep him away from Olivia," she says.

"Great idea." Derek gets to his feet, but his daughter is lingering, fussing over the turkey.

He sighs a little. Deception aside, he knows her affection for that fragrant piece of poultry is legitimate.

"Sweetie … if you really think she's lonely, why don't you turn on the radio for her?" Derek asks, and Christa's face lights up.

" _That_ is a great idea."

"Okay, listen," he says, once Olivia has been set up with smooth jazz – her chosen station, after Christa tested out Top 40, classical, NPR, and soft rock, gauging Olivia's interest by the number and enthusiasm of head bobs. "We have a plan now. You take Tyler outside, play some ball, and he won't be able to kick Arturo _or_ blow Olivia's cover. And if he starts anything with Arturo," Derek adds, "or anyone else, you come get me _before_ you punch him. I mean it, Chris."

"Okay, okay." Christa looks downcast as they walk into the hall.

"Hey." Derek waits for her to look at him. "You may be stuck playing ball with Tyler, but you're still saving a turkey's life," he reminds her.

A smile plays on her lips. "We all are," she says, leaning against him for a moment. "Right? Mom too."

He gives her a quick, affectionate squeeze in response.

"So … does that mean I'm not in trouble?" Christa asks hopefully as she starts to descend the stairs.

"It does _not_ mean that."

"… oh."

Derek tugs lightly on her long hair when they get to the base of the stairs. "Go find Tyler," he instructs her. "Like I said before – let's get through Thanksgiving dinner, and then we'll figure the rest of it out."

..

Flush with successful fathering, Derek makes his way toward the kitchen. Sure, the women in his life are complicated, but he's up to the task.

"Addie? Everything o – "

She grabs his shirt before he can finish the word and drags him the rest of the way into the kitchen.

" … so it's not okay?"

"Very funny." She shakes her head, looking frazzled. "Derek, Kathy says Liz is stuck in traffic but she _also_ says she's bringing a turkey, so – I really need you to help me stall."

"Liz is bringing a turkey?"

"Liz is bringing a turkey!" Her voices rises somewhere between _manic_ and _panic._

"That's good, right?"

"Of course it's good, Derek, but I need you to _stall._ "

"Stall," he repeats. "Okay, I can do that."

"Okay. Okay." Addison pauses, apparently trying to gather herself. "Where's Chris?"

"She's looking for Tyler."

"To punch him again?"

"I hope not." Derek glances around the kitchen. "Where's Jack?"

"Cousins," Addison says.

"Okay, then." Derek nods, the family accounted for. "I'll just stall the – "

"Aunt Addie?"

They both spin around like they've been caught at something illegal, but it's just one of Kathleen's sons.

"Hey, Noah." Addison smiles at the little blond. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Grandma wants to know when dinner is. She says she's _starving_."

"Oh … did she say that?" Addison asks mildly, turning to glare at Derek out of Noah's sight line.

"Noah, honey, you can tell Grandma dinner will be ready very soon," she adds, turning her head again.

"'kay," their nephew says cheerfully.

 _Very soon?_ Derek mouths, looking doubtful, and she glares at him again.

Noah skips off, only to return a moment later.

"Aunt Addie … Grandma says it's _really_ late already," Noah reports, "and should she just keep filling up on carrots like a rabbit?"

Derek's fairly certain he can see smoke coming out of Addison's ears as she replies. "You tell Grandma she can just – "

" – keep snacking," Derek interrupts hastily, "tell her to keep snacking and we'll get dinner out as soon as we can. Okay, buddy? Great." He hustles his nephew out of the kitchen, then turns back to his fuming wife.

"Addie."

"Don't."

"Addie, come on. She's old. And hungry. And she has no glasses."

"The only reason the glasses matter is that she's mad she can't backseat drive me in the kitchen!"

"She doesn't – "

Addison turns on him, which is somewhat amusing while she's wearing two potholders, but he knows better than to make that clear. "Oh, honey, this is _not_ a good time for you to take her side."

"I'm on your side, Addie," he reminds her, "which is why I married you."

"Well." She looks a little mollified, then frowns. "It's not like your mother was a contender."

Derek sighs. "What were you saying about Liz, before? That she's bringing a – "

"Yes. She's bringing one, but she needs to hurry up. As in, _hurry up._ "

As if in response, the house phone rings. Derek picks up the portable receiver from the kitchen island. He's no sooner pronounced the first syllable of his sister's name before Addison is grabbing the phone.

"Liz? Where are you, how close are … _what_?"

Derek frowns as her shriek echoes through the kitchen, gesturing for her to keep it down.

Addison doesn't shriek again, but her frantic conversation is perfectly audible.

"Yes, I _know_ there's traffic on the Merritt. … yes, Liz, I'm also aware it's Thanksgiving. Yes, I – just ride in the breakdown lane! … Well, on the shoulder, then. … Yes, I said _ride on the shoulder_ … I know it's illegal, Liz, but why can't William just use his – yes, I _know_ he's a state senator. That's my point."

Addison pauses, rolling her eyes and holding the phone away, as words like _duty to the people_ and _public servant_ float down the line. "Fine, fine," she sighs into the phone, then pauses. "Thirty minutes, really? That's not very – oh, you mean for the … thing. But what about – " Then she covers the mouthpiece and turns to Derek. "They're not in Bill's car anyway," she explains.

And then returns to the call.

"Well, you have medical plates on _your_ car, don't you?" she reminds her sister-in-law. "Yes, I know, Liz, but this _is_ a medical emergency. … whose life is at stake?" She repeats the words Liz just asked. Glancing out of the open kitchen archway, she lowers her voice to a hiss. "Your mother's life is at stake, Elizabeth. And my mother's – yes, she's here, long story. And my life too! Because if you don't get here fast, I'm going to kill one of them. Or one of them is going to kill me."

Addison pauses.

"And I'm still nursing at night, so that's _two_ lives at stake. Well, Jack's immunity anyway – yes, I know he's old enough to wean, Liz. You don't have to tell me he's cutting teeth." She rubs distractedly at a sore spot as she says it. "Look, all I know is there are three lives in the balance here, and – "

"Aunt Addie?" Noah is in the doorway again, looking bashful.

Addison covers the mouthpiece again. "Yes, Noah?"

"Grandma asked me to make sure you didn't leave the 'struction manual in the oven again."

Throwing Derek a dark look, Addison turns back to the phone, leaving her husband to deal with their nephew. "Okay, Lizzie, _now_ I'm sure which life is at stake. It's your mother's. It's definitely your mother's." She pauses, breathing heavily. "Oh, you can? Oh, _good_."

She hands the phone to Derek and strides into the living room before he can stop her.

"Good news, everyone!" she calls. "Liz says traffic is clearing up on the Merritt!"

"Really? My GPS says it's still bumper-to-bumper," offers Doug, Nancy's husband, who's apparently arrived and has always been fond of his technology. He holds up a sizable sat nav device. Why he's brought it in is beyond her, other than to make her life difficult.

"I'm sure your … thing is just running behind, Doug," Addison says tightly.

"It's actually the latest minute-by minute tech, Addie, I can show you the – "

"Oh _no_ , I think I hear Jack crying." Addison shrugs out of her apron in one brisk movement, handing it to Derek. "Why don't you keep an eye on the kitchen for me, honey, and I'll go get the baby."

" … sure."

..

Okay, so Jack isn't crying.

He's actually being rather worryingly quiet, but she tracks him to the playroom, where several of his cousins are spread strategically near the exits, keeping busy with a board game and two phones. Jack, meanwhile, is standing up, gripping the bookshelves that are thankfully built in, and carefully tugging one book after another out, and then hurling each one to the floor.

Really, his coordination is impressive.

"Hi there." She sits down on the floor next to him, and he turns to beam his four-toothed smile at her.

"Mama," he says happily, and she grins back at him.

She's happy too.

Okay, maybe not happy, maybe more like bordering on manic at this point, but Liz has just confirmed that not only is she bringing a turkey, but it will be ready in thirty minutes once she arrives.

Thirty minutes! Which means her sister-in-law must have had a – cooked turkey ready? That would be unfathomable, laughable, except it _is_ Liz, who has an entire post-apocalyptic storage system set up in her basement. A cooked turkey down there doesn't seem that strange. Frankly … the Loch Ness monster wouldn't seem that strange.

"Ba." Jack slaps another book from the shelf. "Mama!"

"Oh, I heard you." She kisses one of his soft cheeks. "You've been busy here, huh?"

"Sorry, Aunt Addie," says Gillian, one of Nancy's daughters. "We tried to play trains with him, but he bit the conductor."

"Which one of you was the conductor?" Addison asks with alarm.

"No, _this_ conductor." Daniel, one of Kath's little blonds, hands Addison the bottom half of a rubber figurine.

Wait. She freezes. "Does that mean he – "

"No, we have it!" Molly, already taller than Gillian – the cause of an argument last Thanksgiving that Addison hopes isn't repeated this year – quickly shows her aunt the top half of the poor conductor: a smiling, rosy-cheeked, rubber fellow with a handlebar mustache and a jaunty blue cap … who clearly has no idea he was just bitten clean in two by the four sharp teeth of a very efficient baby and is, therefore, missing everything from the belt down.

Addison exhales with sheer relief. "Okay. Good idea to put it away, then."

"We tried other stuff … but he only wanted to play with the books," Molly continues. Her tone suggests she didn't approve of her cousin's plan to destroy the shelves.

"It's fine, honey." Addison smiles at her niece. "He's a handful, I know. As long as someone's watching – _Jack_ ," she says reprovingly, "don't bite Mommy's rings."

Privately, she's not a hundred percent sure even her quite sturdy, thank you very much, diamonds will be a match for her son's mouth.

"Mama," Jack responds approvingly. He grabs for a handful of her shirt.

"That's right. Now, can you help Mama clean up this mess?"

"No-no," he says firmly.

"No-no is … busy right now," Addison says, picking up a few books. "Here, I'll help you."

" _Dada_ ," Jack says, pouting a little.

"And Daddy is busy too, sweetheart, keeping Grandma in line," she says, under her breath for the last part.

Her son looks … crestfallen. And a little torn too. One of his small hands is grasping Addison's shirt, and part of him seems to want to enjoy his mother's company. On the other hand, cleaning up a mess – especially one he's made – is a position to which he's always been strongly opposed.

Addison replaces a few of the books while her son watches.

Then he bursts into tears.

Sighing, she scoops him into her lap. Why is she cleaning, anyway, while her mother-in-law and her _mother_ , of all people, are engaged in a competition to see who can drive her around the bend faster?

Talk about rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

"Okay, baby, you're okay." She kisses the top of her son's blond head. "Forget the mess. We have enough to worry about."

"No-no," Jack says sadly, tugging on his mother's collar.

"All right. We'll go see her." Christa never fails to cheer the baby up. Addison gets to her feet, a little stiff, lifting her son to her hip and thanking her nieces and nephew for watching him – and using the opportunity to make sure there are no visible teeth marks on any of them.

Which is something new – somehow, it never came up when Christa when a baby.

Kathleen's views on child development may be, for the most part, extremely annoying, but it's certainly turning out to be true for her that each child is different. Which is just one of those miracles of –

" _No_ , Jack," she says firmly. "We don't bite doorways."

… motherhood.

..

Addison brings Jack to the kitchen, passing both mother and mother-in-law as she does – both of whom are being regaled with a very detailed story about one of Kathleen's double-blind studies, this one apparently involving both college-aged marijuana users _and_ white mice. It's easy to slip by, since Carolyn is weakened without her glasses and Bizzy's face has the polite-looking but glazed expression that Addison knows perfectly well means her mother is somewhere else. (Of course, she can snap back to attention in a millisecond if necessary, particularly if she needs to slap anyone's hands away from things they shouldn't touch.)

She hugs her son a little closer as they make their way to the back kitchen windows, where they can see Christa and Tyler playing … nicely, or at least it seems that way. Kathleen's twins have joined them, and they're doing something with a red rubber ball that she hopes isn't too violent.

Jack is pleased by the view, slapping his little palms on the window. "No-no!" he shrieks, bouncing in his mother's arms.

"I don't think she can hear you, sweetie."

But Christa looks up a moment or two later, sees them in the window, and waves with a big smile.

Jack is delighted.

"You know, you have a very good big sister." Addison kisses her son's sweet-scented hair. It's true that the same tender heart that's resulted in a very loud, very smelly piece of ostensibly edible poultry taking up residence in Christa's lovely renovated bathroom … is the same one that gives her impressive patience with her not-always-easy little brother.

She's overcome for a moment with love for her daughter.

"Turkey!" Jack shouts suddenly, without warning. He grips a handful of his mother's hair. "Turkey, turkey, _turkey_!"

… of course Christa, like anyone else, has her challenges. Addison closes her eyes for a moment, summoning strength to talk her son away from his new favorite word. "Say something else, baby," she pleads. "Mama. Dada. Up. No. Anything."

"Taxi," Jack says thoughtfully. "Ba."

And then he's babbling again, showing his four teeth, but at least he's not saying _turkey._

She carries him to the stove – of course her mother-in-law loves to talk about how skilled she is at cooking with a baby on her hip. Addison, meanwhile, is standing two feet away trying to remember which … thing … is in which pot.

One of the pots trembles violently as if it's trying to help her identify its contents.

"Aunt Addie?"

She looks up, alarmed.

… and of course it's Noah again. She reminds herself that it's not his fault his grandmother has turned him into a pint-sized, curly haired messenger, and gives him a smile.

"What did Grandma say this time?" Addison asks, unable to keep from sounding resigned.

"Grandma said she's gonna _pass_ _the heck out_ ," Noah reports. "From starvation!"

"Oh, did she?" Addison rubs her forehead with the hand not holding her son, then pauses. "Did Grandma really say _heck_?"

"Sure," Noah says affably. "What else would she say?"

"… nothing." Addison sighs. "Go on."

"Yeah, so Grandma said that and then Christa's _other_ grandma said _our_ grandma was being dramatic." Noah reports this with fascination bordering on outright glee. "And then Grandma said that Christa's _other_ grandma was being a real – "

"Actually, honey, you know what?" Addison crouches down a little to get closer to Noah's level, balancing Jack on her hip. "I really need to finish dinner, so why don't you go tell both grandmas to – to – "

Oh, how she longs to finish that sentence in a satisfying way, but not with a seven-year-old hanging on her every word.

" – to keep waiting patiently," she finishes, with some reluctance. "Here," she adds, grabbing a basket of – something that one of her sisters in law put together. Muffins, bread, at this point everything that's not one of Olivia's long-lost cousins has started to blend together. "Take this out with you."

With Noah gone, Addison leans against the kitchen wall, holding Jack.

"Can you remind Mommy never to host Thanksgiving again?" she asks her son quietly.

"Mama." He smiles at her, showing his four teeth.

" … so it's a deal, then."

And she smiles back at her son just before the smoke detector goes off again.

..

"Addie, dear," Carolyn says, once Derek and Addison have waved sufficient dishtowels to fan the smoke into the garden, "since I'm … trapped – " She's sitting in a comfortable armchair squinting – her glasses still shattered by her grandson – "maybe we should have a plan in place for the next fire."

"It wasn't a fire, Mom," Addison says tightly, hiding the charred portion of the potholder behind her back. "It was just a little smoke. Which is normal when you – Derek, would you _stop_ coughing?" she hisses under her breath.

"It's _reflexive_ ," he hisses back around another cough.

Addison clears her throat loudly to block the sound.

"Can we go back outside now?" Christa asks, Derek following her gaze to where Tyler is starting to approach the staircase.

"Sure," Addison says distractedly, busy trying to pick pieces of burned sprout out of her hair without attracting too much attention. She glances up. "It's chilly out there, Chris. Put on a hat first."

Christa rolls her eyes – Addison makes note of this, as she shoves a fistful of charred sprout leaves into her apron as discreetly as possible, but they'll have to deal with it later.

" _Mom_ , I'm not a little kid."

"Hats aren't for kids, honey, they're for everyone, and it's cold out there."

Christa leaves to get her hat – with an air of supreme sacrifice – and returns to the living room gripping it with both hands.

"What's that you're holding, darling?" Carolyn asks with interest.

"My hat."

"Oh, thank goodness. I didn't really think your mother would let you outside in this freezing weather without a hat," Carolyn says. "Not unless she wants you to catch pneumonia."

"On second thought, Chris, never mind the hat," Addison interjects. She whips the fuzzy hat out of her daughter's surprised hands.

"Addie," Nancy says tentatively, "are you sure you don't want some help in the kitchen?"

She throws her husband a desperate look.

"I'm helping her," Derek says, coughing only a little bit around the words, and shifting Jack in his arms when his son takes an experimental nibble on one of his shirt buttons.

"We can all help!" Carolyn says heartily. "The more the merrier, that's what I always say – "

" – if only your glasses weren't broken," Addison says. "It's awful, really," she adds at a look from her husband.

"You need more than four hands for Thanksgiving dinner, dear," Carolyn sighs. "That's probably why it's taking so long."

Addison grits her teeth.

"I can help," Christa offers.

With a _what can you do_ shrug toward her mother-in-law, Addison ushers her daughter to the kitchen.

… only to find Bizzy is there too.

 _Fuck_ , that woman moves fast.

Oh, _double fuck_ , she didn't say that out loud, did she?

"Addison," Bizzy says coolly. "Your mother-in-law is apparently near death from hunger."

"Yeah, I heard." Addison swipes some of her hair out of her eyes. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" she asks irritably. "Since when do you go into kitchens?"

"Since when do _you_ , dear?" Bizzy asks, and Addison's cheeks flush red.

 _No one invited you_ , that's what she wants to say.

She says nothing instead, deciding to count to three.

Or ten.

Or infinity.

"And where are you off to, Christa?" Bizzy asks, rather heartily, before Addison can even reach _six_.

"I was going to go play outside with Tyler," Christa says without much enthusiasm.

"Tyler," Bizzy says, looking like she's trying to remember something. "Nancy's boy. The aggressive one?"

"He's … spirited," Addison says weakly. She glances outside the window, where she can see Tyler halfway up the fence, apparently demonstrating some kind of – parkour? – to Claire and Audrey. She winces a little as he crashes back to the ground, but notes he lands with some grace on his feet and no complaints.

"But I'm going to help in the kitchen instead," Christa says, smiling at her mother, who rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Good. You're a young lady now, Christa," Bizzy adds, addressing her granddaughter directly, "rather too grown up to be running around outside with the boys."

"Actually," Addison says loudly, "I don't think I need help in the kitchen after all, Chris"

"You don't?" Christa asks, confused.

"No. It's fine, sweetie. Go outside. Play with Tyler. Play, uh, play football. Climb the fence. Get – get messy. Get _very_ messy."

"Um … okay," Christa says, looking from her mother to her grandmother.

"Wait – your hat." Addison plunks it down on her daughter's head.

"I thought you said I didn't need a hat." Christa's face is puzzled.

"I did … but it's colder now," Addison says weakly – shouldn't she be getting _better_ at lying after practicing all day?

She waits for the garden door to close behind her daughter and then glares at Bizzy. "Can you please not – be like that?"

"Like what?" Bizzy asks, her tone innocent.

"Like … ." Addison's voice trails off. _Like Bizzy_ , but she can't very well ask Bizzy not to be Bizzy. "Never mind," she sighs.

"That's more like it." Bizzy nods firmly. "Now that you've sent your daughter to play … urban rugby … with a juvenile delinquent, I hope it won't be too much trouble for you to freshen my drink?"

..

Derek checks the back window twice to make sure Tyler and Christa haven't come to blows. He's just turning around to go help Addison in the kitchen when Kathleen corners him.

"Derek." Her face is very serious. "I've been trying to find you. Look … you should know that Addison told me about Olivia."

"She did?" He's confused.

"I don't think she meant to. It just slipped out," Kathleen explains. "In the kitchen. Often, when one is distracted by menial tasks, key truths can – "

"Right," he says before she can continue. Addison has been flustered, overworked in the kitchen. He had a feeling something like this slip of the tongue could happen – but still. At least Kathleen can mostly be trusted to keep quiet about things, as long those things aren't her research proposals. "Can you just – keep it to yourself, Kath?"

Kathleen looks troubled. "I could," she says, "but I really think you should reconsider having Olivia for dinner."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Wouldn't that be a little messy?"

"Messy?" Kathleen frowns. "We'll just set a place for her."

"Oh, you mean sit at the table."

"Where else would she sit? Derek." Kathleen takes a step closer. "I think it would mean a lot to Christa to be able to have Olivia there with her."

"I'm sure it would, Kath, but it's just not practical."

"Christa's the only cousin without a sister," Kathleen reminds him, "which makes her bond with Olivia even _more_ important."

Derek never expected his sister to be quite so attuned to a turkey, but then again this Thanksgiving has been strange enough thus far that he should probably stop being surprised.

"So what do you say, Derek? Can Olivia join us for dinner?"

"Kath." Derek shakes his head. "Look, it's kind of you to – care, but Olivia is our problem to deal with. We really didn't want anyone else to know. Especially now, with Addison's mother here."

"There's no shame," Kathleen says earnestly. "I think it would be good for Bizzy to be exposed to Olivia."

Good?

"What about Mom?"

"Mom won't have an issue with Olivia," Kathleen assures him. "You know she loves strays."

"Stray _dogs_ ," Derek corrects her. "That's different."

"Well, of course it's different, Derek, but why would Mom mind?"

"Well, for one thing, she smells."

"Olivia smells?" Kathleen asks, sounding concerned.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Derek says, wincing a little at the memory. "And she's loud, and as long as we're being honest, she's ugly too."

Kathleen's eyes widen. "Derek … I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"I guess Addison didn't tell you very much about Olivia, huh?"

"She told me _enough_ , Derek," Kathleen says, a little huffily. "Enough that I can see you're not being very open-minded about her."

"Open-minded." Derek shakes his head. "What does that even – "

"Christa needs this bond!" Kathleen protests shrilly. "Surely you and Addison can understand that."

"Bond," Derek repeats now. "Seriously, Kath?"

Kathleen sighs. "Derek, have you stopped to think that maybe it wasn't an accident? Maybe Addison _wanted_ to tell me? Maybe she'd like to be more welcoming to Olivia?"

Derek shakes his head, annoyed. "We wouldn't even _be_ in this – predicament if Addison had just killed Olivia when she had the chance."

"Killed her?" Kathleen's voice rises. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

"Derek," Kathleen says severely, "killing is _never_ the answer."

"Really?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows. "Because I'm fairly certain it would have been in this case."

Kathleen's face is flushed a deep red now. But before she can respond, the doorbell rings.

Half a second later, Addison bursts out of the kitchen so fast he half expects to see a hole in the wall shaped like his wife, or at least a cloud of smoke behind her.

"Liz!" She pants. "Derek, _Liz_ is here!" Behind Kathleen's back, she mimes the neck motions of a turkey.

…not half badly, either; that therapy session with Olivia while Derek and Christa shopped for groceries really paid off.

Kathleen, however, just looks confused.

"Addison's really missed Liz," Derek supplies, hoping he sounds convincing. "It's, uh, it's been a while."

While Addison gestures at him to hurry up, Derek pulls open the heavy front door.

On the front step are his sister, brother-in-law, and the rest of the Stratfords: one nephew and five nieces, all standing as usual in age order, perfectly groomed, in color-coordinated outfits, as if they're back on the campaign trail.

"Liz." Derek reaches to help her with the large package she's holding. "Addison has been waiting for – "

Abruptly, he stops talking.

He's just seen what it is.

" _This_ is what you brought?" he whispers as he covers his tracks by embracing his sister.

Liz hugs him back. "You don't think Addie will like it?" she whispers, even more quietly.

Derek considers how to answer this. "I think the key is to make sure Addie never sees it," he says.

"To make sure Addie never sees what?" Addison asks with interest, from behind him.

He opens his mouth to think of something – anything – even considering setting off the smoke alarm again.

But then Derek can't even try to hide Liz's offering anymore, because he's caught sight of something else: a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eyes.

Another pair of eyes. Arturo's, glittering in the semi-darkness behind the staircase, his mouthful of sharp teeth fastened around a gold and leather, very familiar, _very_ limited edition handbag strap.

" _Bad!_ " Jack shouts happily as he pushes past the grownups on his wheeled walker … and Derek unfortunately couldn't agree more.

* * *

 _To be continued,_ _of course. Thank you again, **LS**_ _, for this prompt! I know it's not Thanksgiving, but I still love this AU family. Anyone up for chapter 4? I also have a great prompt from twitter that's going to turn into a Christmas story here in the Christa universe. And, needless to say, I also have a LOT of works in progress. In the Addek queue: Quid Pro Quo, All We Want, Behind Closed Doors, and of course The Climbing Way. Wish me luck - wish me speed - wish me reviews, the fastest fairy dust of all!_

 _Thank you for reading. :)_


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